Repaid
by OneWhoTurns
Summary: "…You owe me for this, Venturi." "I'm well aware, McDonald." DASEY (Chapter 17 up!) Please R&R. Apologies for sporadic posting
1. 1: A Single Pillow A Single Head

_A/N: So… this is my first time venturi-ng (see what I did there?) into the world of LWD fanfiction…. *yikes!* I've just been reading so much of it lately that I wanted to try writing it… and, unfortunately, that means my most recent HP fanfic (The Detention) may not get as much attention as it deserves. On the upside, new material! Meaning new inspiration! And potentially some cross inspiration that will get me working on that one again (maybe, who knows)!_

 _So, as a quick disclaimer: it's been about a year since I watched any of the show, and when I did I had watched it all at once. I'm currently living without 24-hour access to the internet, meaning I may not be able to do my usual amount of research and fact-checking, so excuse any mistakes! I'm trying! And once again, this will be primarily smut and fluff. Or smutt'n fluff, as I like to call it. Mostly fluff for a while, then quite a bit of smut. I'll keep it T for now, but the rating will likely go up. UNLIKE my other fics, I actually wrote out a plan of attack for this one, which I hope to follow, in order to give myself some sort of road map to work with so I'm not left without a clue where to go next._

 _And this has been a very long author's note for quite a short preview-type chapter._

 _Well, enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter One: A Single Pillow… A Single Head

 _*ring ring*_

Casey McDonald groaned.

 _*ring ring*_

She rolled over in her standard-issue extra-long twin-sized dorm room bed. The one that had been carefully made with upgraded thread-count sheets since her first year at Queen's U.

 _*ring ring*_

The call obviously wasn't from one of her contacts or she would've recognized a carefully-chosen ring tone. This was the standard ring of an unknown number.

 _*ring ring*_

Christ, what time was it anyway?

As her cell rang again, she cracked an eye open to glance at her bedside alarm clock.

 _3:23 AM_

Immediately, anxiety flooded her system. No one called past 10pm, they knew she'd be asleep (yes, even on a Saturday night… well, for the first month or two of term anyway), so whoever was calling now, from an unknown number…

 _*ring-*_

"Hello?"

She winced at the rough sleepiness that was audible in her voice, and cleared her throat.

"About time, Princess, I was starting to think you wouldn't answer."

Casey frowned, the gears in her head starting to work – slowly. The voice was the same one that had delighted in making her life a living hell for the past…. Well, nearly five years, ever since their parents had gotten married: Derek Venturi.

She hadn't seen him face-to-face (for more than ten seconds around campus) since they'd returned to school for fall term four weeks ago and she'd been roped into helping move his things into his new shared apartment (a favor he did not return when her family helped move her into her new suite-style dorm). She'd been assuming he spent all his time playing hockey or going to parties or being a skirt-chasing cad (though she supposed he must spend some time studying, as he'd passed all of his classes last semester).

But four-plus years of living under the same roof (either year-round or on breaks from university) had made her familiar with Derek's voice, and something felt a bit off. The patronizing nicknames were still in place but he sounded… embarrassed? Maybe worried? Whatever it was, it was profoundly _un-Derek_.

"Are you okay?" It was the first thing that came to mind, even if she didn't like to admit that she was concerned for her stepbrother.

"Yeah…"

Casey paused, hearing the inevitable 'but' in his loaded pause. When he hesitated, she intoned a warning, "Der-ek," her voice still mumbly, losing some of her intended gravitas.

"Well… y'see Case…"

She could imagine him – in his beat-up leather jacket, still rambling around Kingston at 3AM, probably at some bar somewhere – turning to shield the phone from whatever group of friends he didn't want knowing he was talking to her.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Her voice was half cautious half warning. It seemed like the sort of thing he'd do, calling her at this time of night – morning – purely to ruin her sleep. Very Derek. Although, admittedly, it wasn't the night before a big test or social event that he could ruin, so maybe less Derek than she thought. (Then again, he'd been surprisingly civil since they'd started at Queen's last year - probably because they no longer lived under the same roof, since he always got worse when they visited home.) "Because if it is I'm just going to-"

"Don't hang up!"

His voice had regained that touch of sheepishness that she'd noticed before, and he seemed truly worried she'd end the call. So something must be up.

She didn't hang up. She didn't say anything either, her eyes closing with tiredness even as one eyebrow arched in an expectant challenge (despite him not being in the same room to see it).

"…I'm kind of in jail."

"WHAT?!"

That had woken her up right quick. She fumbled for her bedside lamp and turned it on, jumping out of bed to get dressed. As she slipped one arm out of her sleeping t-shirt, and awkwardly tried to lift her shirt over her head while one hand still held her phone to her ear, she was babbling, "Der-ek! What on earth happened?! Why?! Where?! When?!"

She paused her speaking, replacing the shirt with a long-sleeved one and perching her phone between shoulder and chin as she dropped her shorts and wriggled into a pair of jeans.

"Calm down, Case, it's nothing serious." (She thought she head him mutter 'yet,' but couldn't be quite sure.) "It's just a warning, I think. I just need someone to come bail me out."

She narrowed her eyes. While she was still freaking out (it was Casey: freaking out was her primary occupation), part of her felt a sick thrill that threatened to raise the edges of her lips in a smile. It was the part that knew he didn't want their parents to know. And if he didn't want their parents to know, then Casey officially had something to hold over him. And the part of her that recognized that fact, instead of worrying about her step brother surviving a night in jail, was having a grand old time. Unfortunately, given her primary occupation, that part couldn't enjoy itself until she got him back to his place safe and sound.

She pulled her arms out of their sleeves again as she fastened her bra, getting the details of where to go and what he needed her to bring from Derek, before straightening out her shirt again and slipping on boots, grabbing her coat. Before she crept through the lounge area of her suite, where she'd have to be quiet in order to not wake her roommate, Casey paused at her bedroom door.

"I'll be there in fifteen. …You owe me for this, Venturi."

"I'm well aware, McDonald."

* * *

 _A/N: Well, what do you think? Interesting premise, at least? Let me know with a review please!_

 _I'll really pick up with plot in the next couple chapters. (The whole legal aspect will be woefully under-researched, which I apologize for.)_

 _Also, in case you were wondering, the title (which was impossible to pick, btw) is from Death Cab for Cutie's 'Your New Twin Sized Bed' which popped into my head when I was writing the first few lines._


	2. 2: Aw Sht

_A/N: Yay, reviews! Glad to get them! Here's chapter two, for your reading pleasure._

* * *

Chapter Two: Aw Shit

When Casey arrived at the station, she was greeted by a woman in police blues at the front desk who was giving her a wry smile.

"You here for Venturi?"

Casey nodded, carefully, unsure if the woman's familiarity with Derek's case was a good or bad omen. She was instructed to sign in, give her contact information, and sign off on a paper that said she would be held responsible for Derek until his hearing with the QU security office in a few days. After waiting for another ten minutes for her information to pass muster, she was escorted past the intake area.

The place was not nearly as jail-like as Derek had implied – although he _was_ being kept behind bars in a holding area. She was surprised (or was she, really?) to find Derek (and yes, he was wearing his leather jacket) chatting good-naturedly with the policeman on duty who was watching over him. No one else was in his particular holding cell, although someone was sleeping in a cell further down the hall.

She had to admit, she envied her stepbrother's ability to somehow get everyone to like him. Even, apparently, the cops.

At nearly 4 in the morning.

After – she had learned – being in a bar fight, cursing out the manager, and then drunkenly urinating on a cop car.

How he had a cop smiling and laughing with him _now_ of all times, she found nearly impossible to believe. But there he was, hair all mussed and looking sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck with an 'I can't help it' sort of shrug, and the cop – glancing over his shoulder at Casey – was shaking his head and smiling as he unlocked the cell door.

The cop clapped Derek on the back with a firm, almost fatherly, hand. "You're a good kid, Venturi." Then he pointed to Casey with cheerful warning, "You keep him out of trouble, missy, y'hear?"

Casey nodded dumbly, then looked to Derek in bewilderment.

Derek's sheepish smile had curved into a mischievous smirk once he'd turned away from the cop, and as he slung an arm around her shoulders, steering her back out to the front, he leaned toward her and spoke under his breath. "Yeah, _missy_ ," his voice was low, mocking, almost snickering, and he smelled like stale beer and old leather and cinnamon and wood; "Good luck with that." And then they were walking past the front desk and he was shooting a humble grin at the policewoman there, wishing her a good night – "or rather, good morning" – and then they were out.

Casey was incredibly confused. He'd called, sounding like he was in some real distress, and yet there he'd been joking with the police and putting his arm around her and- why was his arm still around her?

She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip. "Just a few more seconds, Princess…" he risked a glance over his shoulder as they reached the car, and let go of her so she could walk around to the driver's side.

Once they were in, and she'd started the engine to warm up the car (those cold fall nights in Ontario), she stared at him. Or, more accurately, glared at him. She may be confused, but with Derek it was a safe bet to assume anger was the appropriate response.

"What?" He was smirking.

"Der-ek." She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing even further.

"Christ - calm down, Space Case." He seemed to take his own advice even as he was speaking to her, facing forward and running a hand through his hair, attempting to make it lay flat, as he shifted to lay back in his seat. The tension he hadn't been showing seemed to be melting off of him now as he let out a comfortable sigh.

She continued to glare.

Catching her eyes again, Derek rolled his. "What do you want to know, Spacey?"

"Well first off…" What _was_ first off? She had a lot of questions, and had only been given cursory answers to anything. "What happened tonight?"

He gave her a bemused look, like he knew she already knew, but answered – in a voice that one might use to explain to someone very slow – "Well, I went to a bar with some friends…"

When her lips thinned angrily, he continued, a smirk settling on his lips. "…and I may have had some drinks…" it was like he was dragging it out to torture her – which he probably was – "…and one thing lead to another-"

"Derek."

"Okay. …So… Mike was shit-talking with this guy about who would win in a cage match between Gretzky and Beckham in their prime years - and obviously it would be Gretzky because I mean, come on, soccer players are such pussies – but this guy said Gretzky couldn't even beat up a kid and he tried to change the channel to some bullshit soccer station but _that_ was just not gonna happen, so Mike takes a swing at the guy but this dude ducked and just _slammed_ him in the face, so – naturally – I had to stand up for the kid-"

As Derek explained – first the fight, being kicked out, then the argument with the manager (who, apparently, was the worst Canadian in history - at least according to Derek), the angry (and drunken) retaliation of public urination, and the resulting arrest and subsequent sobering up – Casey was once again in awe. Disdainful and feeling especially mature and superior, but in awe nonetheless. Her stepbrother was like a walking good luck charm: despite all his troubles, nothing seemed to stick.

"…and then you _finally_ showed up to bail me out – thanks for that, by the way."

In one breath he both berated her and gave her the most flippant thank you for a (Casey thought) high tension situation she'd ever heard. It was slightly infuriating. Her lips were pouted in a slight scowl as she watched the road on the way back to Derek's apartment building (an apartment he shared with two teammates from the QU hockey team).

"So…" She hesitated and shot him a sidelong glance before barreling forward with her line of questioning. "What was with the, erm… awkward arm business?" She blushed slightly as she thought of it, but otherwise admitted no discomfort.

She wasn't big on touching – especially from Derek, 'cause his touches almost always had ulterior motives (leaving a dirty hand print on her shirt, placing an insulting sign on her back, or just moving her out of his way). Plus, she used to be more wary about keeping things strictly familial between them, given their closeness in age, and had decided less interaction kept things simpler. Touching - when it wasn't fighting - had just been something that she tried to avoid whenever possible. Tonight was no different.

"Oh, that?" He looked amused at her reddened cheeks – though she'd been sure he wouldn't see in the low-light. "I suppose you're not used to having physical contact with the opposite sex, are you, Klutzilla?"

She just shot him a glare.

He shrugged, "I'd been feeding them a story about how my behavior was so unusual, and how it was probably _psychological regression after making a big commitment_ -"

"Wow, a five syllable word, I'm impressed-" she faltered with her insult. Had he-? She opened her mouth again, suspicion growing and voice becoming strained as she managed a choked, "- big commitment?"

Derek's maddening smirk seemed more sadistic than ever. "Well, of course once I got back to my _super-responsible fiancée_ she'd make sure I kept within the confines of the law."

He hadn't even finished the explanation before her eyes had widened and she'd blurted: " _Fiancée_?!" Casey's knuckles went white on the wheel but – true to her reputation – maintained a safe and responsible vehicle speed, despite her raised voice.

He snorted at her reaction. "Cool it, Case – I just needed them to be convinced that I didn't need any kind of recommendation for jail time or community service or anything. Plus, they tend to eat up romantic shit, so I went with it. The arm around the shoulders was least vomit-inducing gesture I could figure that would sell the story." His delight in her discomfort was despicable.

"You're despicable."

He grinned. "Hey, look at it this way: I am in your debt." He folded his hands behind his head, leaning back and putting his feet up on the dash. "So - what can I help you with, Princess?"

* * *

 _A/N: The title for this chapter, in case you were wondering, is about the only line I thought could work for a title from Ben Fold's 'Army.' Which I started listening to about the time I was thinking of how Derek might smell after a bar fight. Some songs work better for titles than others. If you have a song you think could lend itself to good chapter titles, let me know! And also review!_


	3. 3: Be Ready

_A/N: I know I just updated, but I've been on a roll lately! Already have ten chapters of this written! So, just to celebrate (and because, obviously, I want to get to that UST ASAP) I thought I'd post another chapter!_

 _Thanks to the reviewers Balyndaba and shyesplease (I've read your stuff! I like it!), and to Balyndaba, desibookworm, and twilightobsession20 for favoriting and Balyndaba and Nollypoo for following. Every time I have an email from FFNet in my inbox, my heart leaps with joy like a hyperactive young child. Or a hyperactive older child. In any case, THANK YOU!_

* * *

Chapter Three: Be Ready

If Derek had expected her to come up with something on the spot, he would've been sorely mistaken. As soon as he'd offered it, Casey knew she intended to think long and hard about how she might use this particular favor.

When she'd dropped him off in front of his building she hadn't yet thought of anything, and his smirk was beginning to falter.

When he'd confronted her the next day in the café/coffee shop of the Student Union building (how he knew she'd be there, she had no idea, although it was part of her weekly routine to split her time on Sundays between home, the café, and the library) it was even more hesitant.

Finally, after asking (in person or via text) at least once a day for nearly a week (during which he had a hearing with QU security and was granted an official warning – no fines or penalties necessary – which may have contributed to a bit of guilt on his end, if he was anything approximating human) his grin had officially slipped to a grimace. Perhaps it was the guilt, but he seemed more eager than ever to be rid of his debt. She was reminded – with a surge of malicious delight – just how fun it was to hold something over his head. Like when she'd faked how bad her ankle was hurt… ah, the good times back in high school. (She chose not to remember the downsides of that particular venture.)

He finally approached her, the next Friday afternoon, in her usual library nook.

Completely disregarding basic human decency rules for libraries, he tossed his backpack on the table with a thud and clatter that surely would've been heard several shelves over, and vaulted over the arm of the cozy couch that had been placed in this particular nook to claim his new territory, his whole body splaying out in a lounging posture, forcing Casey to shift all the way to the edge of the sofa to avoid his wet sneakers.

" _Der-ek!_ " No matter how much she wanted to yell, she kept her voice to an angry whisper (because _she_ actually cared about following the rules of basic human decency) as she glared daggers at her stepbrother. " _What do you think you're doing?!"_

He had affixed her with a determined – almost desperate – smirk. "I figured it out. I figured out how I can pay off this stupid debt."

" _Shh!"_ She pointed to the sign on a nearby shelf that reminded students to keep their voices down in consideration of others. _"How did you even find me here?"_

He grimaced and rolled his eyes, but his voice lowered (still not a whisper, but a low rumble that she'd accept for the time being). "Asked that hot blonde you room with." The 'hot blonde' in question was Casey's suitemate Alicia. Casey had met her during the two stage productions she'd participated in last year. It was weird to hear Derek describe the girl, who Casey had mostly seen wearing all black tech crew wear, as a 'hot blonde,' but (she rationalized) Alicia was, indeed, blonde, and had a habit of wearing PJ shorts and tank tops while hanging around the suite.

Derek shrugged off the outrage of Casey's question and continued, "Look: you like Gable right?"

Casey felt her cheeks go pink. Wesley Gable, the TA of her Psych 101 section, was only the undisputed most lusted-after student on campus. He was kind, smart, funny, a member of both the campus activity board and one of the most well-respected fraternities on campus, and a starting defender on the hockey team. Also – of course – incredibly attractive. Any heterosexual female at Queen's would be lying if they said they _weren't_ interested. "…maybe."

He narrowed his eyes at her in a look that said _'that is the least believable lie you've ever told, and we all know you're a horrible liar'_ – but he didn't jibe her. "Well, what if I told you I could hook you two up." It wasn't a question, despite being phrased as one, it was more of a potential statement.

Casey blinked in disbelief. She was opening her mouth before she could stop and think about her actions. "Yes."

Hmm… maybe she should've considered her other options first. She didn't like seeing the (relieved?) look of satisfaction coupled with Derek's newly cheeky grin.

"Lovely." He brushed his hands together as though cleaning them and stood. "Productive meeting, Princess. Good talk."

He was already picking up his bag again when Casey came to her senses. She turned around, rising on her knees on the couch to face him. "Wait!" She recognized the volume of her own voice and blushed as she lowered it again, but she'd at least gotten his attention, as he stood looking at her with an expectant raised brow, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. "How is this going to work?"

He pointed at her. "This is what I now have to figure out. How we can turn you from Klutzilla to…" his hand lowered and he shot her a withering smirk. "Well, anything even slightly resembling a desirable female, is going to be a personal triumph." If arrogant delinquent was a fragrance, Derek would be the spokesperson. "But it's a task I will bravely attempt."

She glared at him, though she still hadn't quite come to her senses enough for the glare to hold much bite.

Derek took a couple steps closer, and blatantly looked her up and down – and Casey had to stop herself from cringing or pushing him away. "…I _think_ it's doable…" The melodramatic doubt in his voice made her lips thin. "Just know that you'll have to follow my advice _to the letter_. Are you willing to do that, Princess?" His words were patronizing, but she could also sense the challenge in them.

Casey hesitated. But she never backed down from a challenge. Especially one issued by this particular insufferable bastard (in the colloquial, not literal, sense of the word). Sitting up straight, jaw set determinedly, she nodded.

"Great. My place, 8 o'clock." He walked backward a few steps, nodding his goodbye before turning. When he was a good ten feet away he tossed, over his shoulder, in a voice loud enough that Casey was sure others in the library must've heard; "And at least _try_ to wear something sexy."

* * *

 _A/N: This chapter's title was once again mined from a song I listened to while writing. Derek in his badass/asshole-dom seemed fitting of some of my 'this music makes me feel like a rebel' tracks. This particular chapter was 'Tighten Up' by The Black Keys. It was hard to pick a lyric from the song, 'cause they didn't really fit, but at the same time the song just felt like it embodied his strut, in a way. Am I wrong? Lemme know with a review._

 _And this chapter's fun fact: there are actually no fraternities or sororities at Queen's University (yes, I did briefly attempt research). But, since it's a common trope in Dasey college fics, and I'm trying not to get so caught up in research-based holdups (I lose hours to this stuff), I figure I'll keep it, and try not to get sucked into a search for the perfect frat name. (Then again, if you have suggestions, I'm very open!)  
_

 _Also, I just realized (as I'm watching through every episode of LWD) that I had the whole time frame off. At this point Nora and George would've been married for around 3 years, maybe 3 ½. But oh well. It wasn't clear in the show until season 3. In other words: not my fault._

 _Review?_


	4. 4: I Believe it Cause I Feel it

_A/N: Thanks again to shyesplease and Balyndaba for reviews, and to thedarkemperor and tvd1992 for favoriting and following! My writing has slowed, but if anyone wants to beta for me (plot-wise; I'm usually good on the mechanics, just sometimes need to bounce ideas off of others) I'd appreciate a kick in the pants._  
 _Without further ado, here's chapter four!_

* * *

Chapter Four: I Believe it 'Cause I Feel it

Casey could totally be sexy. Totally. She was a fully capable, powerful, self-assured woman, full of womanly beauty.

So why was she finding it so hard to pick out something to wear?

She had her suspicions about the night's activity (8pm on a Friday night was prime time for social outings), and while _usually_ she felt fine picking out something suitably attractive for a date or party ( _yes_ she had been to parties, jeez, she wasn't a hermit), thinking about something suitable for going out with _Wesley Gable_ was an entirely different matter. Plus, _sexy_? She usually went more for 'I'm put together' than 'I put out.' Just the thought was squicky.

"Jesus, Casey, just pick something." Alicia was sitting in their living room, playing some video game on their TV, clad in PJs and her reading glasses. She wasn't usually the sort to party on a Friday night, unless it was a LAN party (not that Casey knew what that was supposed to mean). Casey had been holding up possible outfits for the last thirty minutes.

"I _can't_ , 'Lisha, I need to make a _perfect_ first impression."

The blonde rolled her eyes as she paused the game and set down her controller. "You see him twice a week in class. It's not a first impression," she pointed out. "Besides, you'll look good in whatever you wear. Just make sure you've got a good bra on and you're fine. That's _my_ advice." She shrugged.

Casey shook her head. "That might work for _you_ , but – in case you haven't noticed – I don't leave things up to chance. I want to _know_ I look great."

Completely shifting her attention to her suitemate, Alicia narrowed her eyes. "Your red push up bra. And that fitted blouse you have, the black one that buttons up."

Casey almost protested, but realized that the blonde was offering her straightforward advice, and maybe it would be wise to just take it. "But that's long-sleeved, isn't 'sexy' supposed to be, y'know-"

"It's fall, Casey. It's okay to wear long sleeves. Besides, you can roll them up. It'll look laid back and cute- sorry, _sexy_." The girl only barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes again.

Casey nodded, Alicia's calm demeanor helping settle her nerves. "But what about pants? I don't think I should just wear jeans-"

"Don't you have some kind of miniskirt?"

Casey hesitated. Most of her skirts were of the pencil style. Or denim. Or skorts. Or floaty things she could twirl in – nothing of the 'sexy' variety.

Alicia shook her head at Casey's look of worry. "I'll let you borrow one of mine. You have nice legs, you should show them off."

Casey blushed, but nodded. Part of her wanted to point out that Alicia wasn't the most popular girl on campus either, but she remembered that Derek _had_ called her suitemate hot, so that must've given the blonde _some_ kind of credentials, right? Besides, Casey was proud of her body, and her legs were well-toned from years of dance, so maybe Alicia had a point. Either way, she wasn't in a state to argue.

Which was how she ended up, in a very Alicia-esque outfit of black on black on black (which, she rationalized to herself, was a color scientifically proven to make people look attractive, intelligent, and confident – something she needed, and was finally starting to feel). She'd agreed with the black blouse, and had to admit it did flatter her upper body spectacularly – nipping in at the waist and opening to show a tantalizing hint of skin at her collarbone – and had borrowed a short black pleated skirt from Alicia (removing the chains that usually adorned it: she'd already had her little punk phase in high school). Her suitemate had dubbed the floral Doc Marten boots 'very laidback chic,' so she was feeling good about that. She could be laidback. And chic. And cool. And _sexy_.

And also cold.

"He won't kill you for wearing a jacket, Case, it's fall." And with that Alicia returned to… some game with guns and grenades.

Why was her roommate having to remind her so frequently of the season? Either way, Casey nodded (nervously) and went into her closet to search for something appropriate.

While she was searching, however, she heard an insistent knocking on their suite door.

She popped her head out of her room, shooting her roommate a look of confusion. The blonde merely shrugged, then paused her game (again, this time with an audible sigh), and went for the door as Casey returned to the closet.

"Oh, you again." Alicia sounded bored, but not blatantly rude. "She's here, she's just getting dressed."

"Nice to see you too, doll."

Casey faltered as she heard Derek's voice. (Almost a full hour early.) And, of course, it was hitting on her suitemate. At least the blonde wasn't flirting back.

"Hey Keener-" His words were raised as she heard the sound of a jacket being tossed on the table and a body falling onto the couch. "-Sorry 'bout the change of plans," (he sounded anything but,) "I got invited to a thing later, thought you wouldn't mind bumping up the schedule."

"Yeah, whatever," she shot back, holding up one jacket after another against her outfit in her full-length mirror.

About a minute later, a voice piped up from the living room. "Do you mind?" The voice was Alicia's – not as snarky as Casey would've expected, given the words and to whom they were addressed – but she couldn't tell from here just what Alicia was referring to.

"Go right ahead, sweetheart." As always, Derek's smirk was audible. As was his confusion a moment later, "Whoa whoa whoa, wait-"

But Alicia had already taken the few steps it took to enter Casey's room, and she was holding Derek's leather jacket. She tossed it to the brunette before she could protest. "Wear this: it's perfect for that outfit."

Casey was pulling a face, holding the jacket at arm's length. She looked to Alicia, her face pleading.

"Do it." The blonde ordered.

Casey brought the jacket to her nose, hesitantly, sniffing. She screwed up her face at the very strong, very masculine scent (not as bad as she'd feared – at least it didn't smell like B.O. – but there were definitely overtones of spice and booze, and undertones of Derek's deodorant). Her voice held a distinct whine as she pouted at her suitemate, "But-"

Alicia cleared her throat and leveled her gaze at Casey, and the brunette sighed, pulling the jacket on. She would never admit it, but she agreed that the jacket worked perfectly. And it was comfortable. And still a little warm.

"Just what exactly are you-" Derek's words stopped as he entered Casey's bedroom. He'd been stopped by the uncharacteristic mess of clothes strewn all over the bed and floor. "Wow, Space Case, must take something special to-"

She'd started wringing her hands as his eyes had scanned over the mess of shirts and pants and – _gulp_ – bras, and other clothes – but she felt a blush working its way up her neck as he finally caught sight of her in all her 'this is me being sexy' glory. She couldn't tell if his silence was a good or bad thing. The slack in his jaw must've been good… right?

"…You're not wearing my jacket." Derek's voice was flat, but it wasn't as arrogant as she'd expected.

Alicia elbowed him in the arm. "Yes, she is," she insisted, looking at Casey with a smirk that rivaled Derek's. "You look hot, Case," she assured, giving her suitemate a thumbs up.

Derek rubbed his arm, glaring at the blonde girl, but grumbled his acquiescence.

Casey barely had time to shoot her suitemate a tentative excited smile before she was yanked from the room by the sleeve of Derek's jacket.

"Now, as nice as it's been to chat with you Alicia, I've got to go teach Klutzilla here how to get a man."

Klutzilla was right – with Derek dragging her through the lounge she was having a hard time regaining her balance. In that moment she was glad she hadn't gone for heels. Because boots let her dig her feet in.

"Der-ek!" She yanked back against his grip, and they came to a stop. Derek seemed unsurprised.

"Well, obviously, your first lesson is to _go with the flow_ , Case – and that _flow_ is goin' outta here." He'd made his way to the door and pulled it open, leaning against it casually, rolling his eyes. "Now, are you gonna come willingly, or do I have to carry you kicking and screaming to your Prince Charming?"

With a huff, and an attitude more fitting for grade school than university, Casey crossed her arms over her chest and stomped out of the room.

Alicia, seemingly unfazed, caught the once-over Derek gave his stepsister as she passed. And the lingering on her skirt-clad ass. "Classy, Venturi."

Derek shot her a sarcastic smirk, eyes narrowed. "Every day of my life."

She had always called him a _skirt-_ chasing cad, after all.

* * *

 _A/N: There it is: chapter four. A long one, too! This title is brought to you by Hedley's 'Anything,' although it was a hard choice to make. I'm liking using music for titles, but having a tough time picking things. Suggestions are always welcome – I have a vast music collection that I love expanding. So leave it in a review!_

 _And fun fact: the thing about black making people "Appear More Attractive, Intelligent, and Confident" is right out of a recent study. I read it on Complex. Seriously. Google it._


	5. 5: The Body That Lies

_A/N: Guys! It's working! Cross-inspiration! I managed to get working on chapter 33 of The Detention (my current HP fic – go check it out! Similar witty banter abounds! And feminist Ginny takes no guff!), after stalling out on it for a couple weeks. Unfortunately, now I seem to be stalling in chapter 12 of this story, but I bet I can come up with something. Reviews are always useful, especially ones that comment on how things are going or what you want to happen/guess might happen. And it's not too late to review the first four chapters, either! ;D_

 _Shoutouts to Balyndaba, eloisemariehampton and DC2012 for reviewing, eloisemariehampton, Randomnessismee, DC2012 and The-blue-eyed-dreamer for favoriting, and simplewordsandcompany and eloisemariehampton for following!_

 _I'm also looking for a beta to check out upcoming chapters and let me know how the plot looks, and how to move the story forward more efficiently. Anyone interested?_

 _Anyway, sorry for the whole spiel, without further ado: enjoy chapter five! (I certainly did!)_

* * *

Chapter Five: The Body That Lies

The 'Prince Charming' Derek had been referring to was, apparently, not Wesley Gable. In fact, if Casey had to guess, the 'Prince Charming' was just Derek's flourish on an old classic: the Prince. Admittedly looking better than it did in high school (though not by much), the car had been just as reliably clunky as ever as it had carried a sulking Casey back to Derek's apartment building.

"I _thought_ you were supposed to be setting me up with Wesley." She glared at him, arms still crossed and chin held up stubbornly as he stopped in a parking space marked for his apartment and got out.

He leaned down to look back through the door at her. "And let you ruin it for yourself before even getting a date? I don't think so. Come on." He gestured for her to leave the Prince.

Casey's eyes sparked at his challenge and she settled herself in the seat, pointedly.

He let out a belabored sigh and shut his door, walking around to hers and opening it. "Come on, Princess. Out."

She began to examine her nails (not that she'd had them done recently – too busy getting used to this semester's classes and extracurriculars to spend time pampering).

Derek let out a huff of laughter and leaned back. "Fine. Freeze yourself to death out here." He shrugged, carelessly. "Just – do me a favor: try not to die in my jacket, I'd hate to have to pry it from your cold and lifeless body."

She turned to glare at him, and he jingled his keys. "What'll it be, Princess? Nice warm apartment…" he held out an arm to help her out, "or Case-sicle?"

Despite his self-satisfied smirk, Casey acquiesced, taking the offered arm and pulling herself from the seat. She half expected him to, in typical Derek fashion, dump her on her ass as soon as she got on her feet, but he surprised her by escorting her up the sidewalk, drawing her closer with an arm around her shoulders (again, with the shoulders thing).

"What- what are you doing?" Casey hissed at him, feeling her cheeks warming (at least she could blame it on the cold, and wouldn't have to admit to the complete and utter discomfort of having her stepbrother's arm around her).

He raised an eyebrow at her, bemused. "You stole my jacket, Case. It's cold." As they got closer to the building, he added, in a low voice, "Besides, it's a Friday night: I need to keep up appearances."

"What's that supposed to-" By the time she figured out just what he meant, they were in the lobby. "Ew!" She sprung away from him, and this time he let her go, chuckling to himself.

"Believe me, Princess, I'd much rather have another girl to fill my Friday quota. But I might as well get my pro-bono charity work done now." He'd pressed the button on the elevator and, when it opened, swept his hands in a 'you first' gesture. She suspected he just wanted to make sure she didn't bolt for the door. He had a 'reputation' to uphold, _apparently_.

"Thanks," she deadpanned, glaring at him as she passed, taking up a position against the wall to her left. "So glad you took time out of your _very busy criminal schedule_ to stoop so low as to help little ol' me." The words were practically venomous.

He leaned against the opposite wall of the elevator, still wearing that insufferable smirk. "Hey, anything for _family_." The word was spoken with nearly tangible sarcasm. And then, he had the _audacity_ to wink at her. Actually _wink_! Who did he think he was, anyway?

Casey's jaw dropped in outrage, but she didn't get a chance to respond before he had – after glancing at the lit track above the door – slid along the wall over to her. His right hand slipped beneath the jacket she wore – _his_ jacket – and cupped her waist in an overly intimate gesture, his fingers splaying out over her ribs in a way that suggested they may have gone higher. He'd just placed his left hand on the wall above her shoulder, blocking her face, and ducked his head down toward hers (a movement that made her eyes widen in shock, her body already having gone stiff at his touch), as the doors dinged and opened.

Casey's eyes were locked on Derek's face (his eyes having avoided hers for this whole exchange), frozen in utter disbelief as he glanced over his shoulder to whoever was in the doorway (blocked from Casey's sight), the smirk on his lips equivalent to that of the cat who ate the canary.

"Sorry, ladies, you'll have to catch the next one." His tone was smug but friendly.

A moment later the doors were closing, and he was slipping away from her again like it was no big deal that he'd been practically feeling up his stepsister in an elevator. "Sorry 'bout that." He didn't sound apologetic at all. In fact, he sounded cool as a cucumber. Almost flippant. "Those would be my stalkers from the fourth floor."

Casey was distracted by – well, everything. Her body was still stiff as a board, her ribs burning where his hand had been, the warmth quickly spreading down her left side. At least when they were in high school she could rationalize their physical contact as normal sibling behavior – wrestling for the remote, or wrestling over a movie, or wrestling around with shaving cream and shampoo… wow, they'd wrestled a lot, hadn't they? Either way: _this_ behavior was _not_ normal sibling behavior. Not even _close_. It was practically the _opposite_.

Apparently, Derek had been talking this whole time. "…that they're not my type, but they'll keep checking with the binoculars and all – Jules said Kit keeps a tally and everything-"

Rational Casey took over then, promptly ordering her thoughts and explaining just why Derek's behavior – while unacceptable – was not out of the ordinary. He used people. That's what he did. He was Derek. She was just another female-bodied prop which could stand in for any other female body for the sake of his reputation. He needed a girlfriend prop, she was a girl. Totally normal and _not at all freak-out-worthy_ behavior. …And at least they hadn't seen her face.

* * *

 _A/N: Anyone else feeling a little warm? ;D_

 _This chapter's title is courtesy of Chet Faker's 'Gold' – a song that balances elevator music instruments with a real seductive beat. I highly recommend it. Also, the video is cool. Hot girls roller skate-dancing. (This is better than it sounds.) Maybe check it out and let me know what you think? Or just let me know what you think of the chapter itself? All reviews are welcome and appreciated!_

 _And another reminder that I'm looking for a beta to run plot by._

 _And reviews on this and my other current fic are both HIGHLY appreciated. You have no idea how much FFNet emails cheer me up on a bad day._


	6. 6: She's Alright

_A/N: Finally moved past chapter twelve! Thirteen has been written, and 12 and 13 got their title music (this is a thing I care very much about). Thanks go out to Balyndaba and shyesplease for reviewing (and the guest reviewer, but I can't thank you by name), Sadler26 for favoriting and MoriahKatherine for following! I appreciate all the support guys!_

 _Without further ado, chapter six._

* * *

Chapter Six: She's Alright

When they reached the eighth floor, Derek once again ushered Casey out in front of him.

She'd managed to calm her mental buzzing to a low roar, but the metaphorical dam sprung a leak as he placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her toward his apartment. She distracted herself with the very familiar emotion of _righteous indignation_. "I know where you live, Derek – I helped you move in, remember?" She narrowed her eyes, "Right before you _ditched me_ when I was moving _my_ stuff?"

"Oh yeah," he dropped his hand, seemingly unfazed by her chilly attitude, and gestured down the hall, looking smug. "Then why don't _you_ lead the way, Princess?" She almost would've characterized his look as a leer. But that would've implied some sort of lecherousness – not that Derek wasn't lecherous on a regular basis – 'cause he was – just – well… not toward her. 'Cause that would be weird. Right? Ugh, she just didn't want to think about it. Luckily, he kept his distance the rest of the way down the hall (though Casey felt weirdly watched – and she started to wonder if his stalkers had taken up residence in a stairwell or something).

When she entered the apartment, Casey balked to find that it wasn't empty, as she'd been expecting.

"Oh, hey-" The speaker was a vaguely familiar face – another member of the QU hockey team (Derek roomed with two teammates), Casey thought his name might be Ron or Rob or something – a ginger who was slinging a bag over one shoulder. He raised his eyebrows at her ensemble, then his eyes shifted over her shoulder. "Sorry, D, I'm heading out, didn't mean to interrupt anything." The look was mildly curious, wondering – though Casey didn't realize it – just who was special enough for Derek to give up his prized jacket.

"No worries, Novak."

Casey jumped at how close Derek was – she'd somehow missed him coming up behind her, and he was close enough now that she became aware of the heat radiating off his body – and she felt (once again) a blush creeping up her neck at the surprise. A blush that only deepened as Derek's arm snaked around her waist from behind (over the jacket this time, thank God) to practically sweep her off her feet and pull her against the door – and, subsequently, against him – to make room for the ginger (Roy, Roy Novak, she remembered now) as the boy nodded a goodbye to his newly-returned roommate and brushed past them.

Okay, so maybe Casey _didn't_ have a lot of experience in close quarters with the opposite sex. She at least had _some_. She wasn't, like, a _virgin_ or anything. She'd had a boyfriend at QU. They'd lasted almost a full semester. Before she'd dumped him for being too… well, too simpering. He'd cried after their first time. _Her_ first time, and _he'd_ been the one crying. It had been awkward as hell. After that, she'd been more cautious about dating boys she met through the academic honors society. And she'd even gone to a couple of frat parties. Not that she'd been comfortable there, but at least she'd made an effort. And then there were cast parties after the shows…

The first time she'd met her now-roommate Alicia, it had been past 1am and the girl had been in charge of the community wine bottle, counting down to "topless o'clock." She'd fixed Casey with a steady gaze and reminded her that the whole 'everyone gets topless once I drink this bottle down to this mark' thing was _optional_ and Casey didn't have to do anything if it made her uncomfortable. (Casey ended up taking off her sweater and wandering around the party in a cami, but she'd seen most of the girls that stayed past that point wearing only bras, and most of the guys completely topless.) Theater kids were not the dorks they were made out to be. And speaking of making out, there had been a lot at that party. She'd left before "half-past pants" – when the bottle was emptied – and didn't regret it a bit. (Well, maybe a bit. But she was relieved not to be a part of it.)

Either way, she didn't like thinking about these things while pressed against her stepbrother.

She pried his arm off of her and stumbled away, thoroughly pink. "Der-ek," her voice was whining, and she quickly straightened up and dug her hands into the pockets of the jacket – mostly so she didn't have to think of anything to do with them.

It was weird having access to Derek Venturi's pockets. She found herself fingering the items inside, trying to guess at what they were as Derek himself shrugged off her whine, shut the door, and walked toward the kitchen. There were definitely some pieces of paper – one was a post-it, the other felt like a scrap torn from the spiraled edge of a notebook (Casey suspected both were numbers) – then there was a thick plastic card she thought might be a spare student access card or maybe a student athlete ID, some coins, a tube of chapstick, and a pack of gum. Curious, she pulled out the gum. Ah, Big Red. That made sense, he did tend to smell more spicy than minty. Not that she was smelling him. Not by choice, anyway, she was sort of forced into it with the jacket situation.

"Ooh, I'll take some of that-" he plucked the pack from her hand with one of his, the other holding two glass bottles, as he brushed past her to throw himself onto one of the couches. Straightening out into a sitting position, he tossed the gum on the coffee table (surprisingly clean, for an apartment that housed three male athletes), pulled his keys from a pocket, and found a bottle opener on the keychain, popping the two beers open. He offered one to Casey. "Take a seat, Case. Relax. Unwind."

She looked at the bottle, suspiciously. "What about… Wesley…"

Derek snorted. "Case: I know Wes. I know what he likes. And I know what he _doesn't_ like, which _includes_ girls who take themselves too seriously." He raised his eyebrows at her in a challenge, and offered the beer again. "Pull up a chair, young grasshopper, and I will teach you the ways of Gable."

She hesitated just another second before letting out a huff and dragging a chair from the dining area toward the couch, setting it alongside the coffee table and sitting down. She snatched the bottle from her stepbrother and took a sip, a slight pout on her lips.

Derek chugged about half his drink before putting it back on the table and helping himself to a piece of gum. He glanced at her barely-sipped beer, shaking his head with a smirk, then sighed. "Right." He clapped his hands, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms. "Let's get down to business."

Casey took a larger swig from the bottle, steeling herself. "Business?"

He shot her a wicked grin and spread his hands before him. "Meet your new dating coach."

* * *

 _A/N: Well, there's the primary premise for the first act of this story (roughly). Thoughts?_

 _This chapter's title is courtesy of the Fratellis, 'Baby Fratelli.' They were the least suggestive lyrics I could find. Figured it sounded better than "she'll be suckin' fingers all night." XD Though I was rather tempted by "everybody says she's uptight." And I like the idea of "Friday's nightmare" (lots of these songs have Friday in the lyrics, which I didn't realize at first, but love since the chapters in question are set on a Friday)._

 _The idea of "topless o'clock" and "half past pants" are not mine. I first learned of this practice during a cast party for the Rocky Horror Picture Show, and I have wanted to use it in every story possible ever since. I will likely be using it in The Detention at some point as well, as there are a LOT of parties in that fic, and Blaise certainly seems like the type to encourage stripping. Damn hedonists. ;)_

 _I really am curious to know if anyone, anyone at all, is looking up these songs. It may not seem like it, but I spend a lot of time curating my story playlist, and it'd be cool if I was able to spread some good music to readers. XD_

 _Let me know if you've checked them out in a review! Or just leave a review for any other reason!_ _ **I love reviews!**_


	7. 7: We Act So Shameless

_A/N: Thanks to sheteego, Balyndaba, DC2012 and shyesplease for the reviews and rainbowsherbert927 and ML143 for the follows!_

* * *

Chapter Seven: We Act So Shameless

Casey blinked. And then blinked again. "My… what?"

Derek rolled his eyes, exaggeratedly. "Oh _come on_ , Case, you're a bit socially inept, but I know you're not deaf. Besides: it's been a while since I got to be Coach Derek."

"You mean when you worked Lizzie until she hated your guts?" She couldn't help the snarky reply – and she'd been trying so hard to keep herself in line.

He smirked. "You mean when _I_ coached Lizzie into scoring her first goal in hockey and _you_ failed to turn Edwin into a date-worthy candidate? …You're only strengthening my claims here, Spacey: _I'm_ better at coaching, and _you're_ bad at guys."

She pursed her lips, but opted to take a sip of the drink instead of reply.

Derek, looking even more full of himself than he had been, took that as a sign to begin. "Well, first thing's first: stand up."

Casey raised an eyebrow, challengingly.

"I need to evaluate your abilities, Case, and the first thing a guy notices is looks." He was speaking in a voice that almost mocked sincere regret. He shrugged, 'helpless.' "I gotta see how you interpreted the 'dress sexy' request."

She shot him a flat look, jaw clenched. "I am _not_ one of your bimbo fangirls, Derek!" Her voice was lower than the usual shrill protest, almost a growl. "And-"

"Woah, woah, calm down, Princess!" He raised his hands, in the universal signal of 'I'm backing off.' "If you don't _want_ my help getting a date with Wes, I won't keep offering. Just know that you've already cashed in your debt, and anything you try to replace it with has a set value." Before she could ask, he added, "-A decidedly _lower_ value. You understand," the words were spoken with a smirk that might've qualified as wiley.

She bit her tongue, pausing to attempt to collect herself. She let out a last, "Der-ek!" in protest before pouting at her loss. Because she _did_ want his help. He knew guys. And, more importantly, he knew Wesley. And she _wanted_ to know Wesley. _Badly_.

He waited a beat. "Now then, are you done throwing your little tantrum?"

She glared, but managed a curt nod.

He leaned back, face smeared with that audacious grin – ugh! He was infuriating.

"Whenever you're ready, Princess. I'm waiting."

She imagined glaring at him so hard he started to choke. Or maybe set on fire. Or some other horrible unfortunate accident that she could never be traced to. But she stood, reluctantly, and did a small – halting – spin.

"Sans _my_ jacket, if you please." If she looked up 'smug' in the dictionary, Casey was pretty sure there would be a full collage of pictures of Derek Venturi's face.

She dramatically pulled the jacket from her arms and held it out at arm's length, dropping it unceremoniously and beginning her turn as Derek jerked forward to catch the article of clothing before it hit the ground. As he leaned back – slowly – into the couch, she could almost feel his eyes working their way up her body, from toes, to hips, to… hips… to waist… to… chest…

Uneasy couldn't even begin to describe how she felt when his eyes finally met hers. "Not exactly _sexy_ , but it'll do." His eyes were sneering, but he kept his lips tame.

Casey crossed her arms over her chest, cocking a hip out as she sent him a withering glare.

He cracked a smile, shaking his head. "Casey, Casey, Casey…" he stood, and thoroughly invaded her personal space, his eyes a good five inches above hers, copying her crossed-armed-stance. She could practically taste the cinnamon of his breath. Tilting his forehead down, he extended his neck to enter _further_ into her bubble. His voice was low and patronizing. "You're doing it wrong."

Her brow furrowed in confusion, and then outrage as he grabbed her arms and pulled them down, adjusting them to go _under_ her cleavage, forcing her breasts up and out.

"Now _that_ -" He punctuated his words by flicking the next button of her blouse open, "-is how you get a guy's attention." Seemingly unable to stop himself, he glanced down, "Ooh, red; trying to impress some-?"

"Der-ek!" She slapped his hands away, and tried to step back, needing some kind of distance. … _Unfortunately_ , a distressed Casey often lead to certain lapses in memory or judgment or-

She shrieked in surprise as her knees hit the chair, and she plopped into it, her momentum tipping the chair over as she flailed helplessly. Derek was laughing out loud before she even hit the ground. Which she did, promptly. And _hard_. She groaned in frustration, limbs splayed around her as she rubbed the back of her head, gingerly.

Her stepbrother interrupted his own – apparently uncontrollable – laughter with an astute observation as his eyebrows raised: "Oh, and it's a matching set-"

"Derek!" He shifted out of the way of her well-aimed kick, looking devilishly delighted as she tugged her borrowed skirt down between her legs. She really didn't need his comments on her… erm… lingerie.

She fumbled around until she managed to get back on her feet. She may have been flustered, but she'd made a commitment. And she intended to stick it out. For Wesley.

Derek was still snickering. Casey glared at him. "Are you done?"

He pursed his lips, but managed to stop his laughter, eyes still alight with what Casey was sure was some sadistic gleam. "Come on, Case, it's not like I haven't seen your underwear before."

She felt the telltale tingle of a blush creeping its way over her (again?! How many times was this happening today? She was so off her game!) and her lips thinned. "Right, 'cause you've always been a perv."

He took another step closer to her, threatening to immediately repeat the last incident, but this time Casey held her ground, stiffening. "Not a perv, Case," he smirked, "Just innocent teenage curiosity."

She snorted. "Like _you_ were ever _innocent_ -" she jutted her own chin into _his_ personal space, "-ha!"

For a second they were both quiet. Casey felt the hair standing on the back of her neck as the tension grew. She was sure any second she would just… strangle him. Yes, that's exactly what she would do. Because he was _Derek_. He was _the worst_ , and the _least attractive_ and _most jerk-ish_ of anyone she'd ever met. Totally.

"And if you want me to _keep_ protesting your innocence, you better start coaching, _D_." Her voice was low, and dripping with sarcasm. But it worked. He leaned back, letting out a short huff of breath, and the tension was broken.

But Casey had a feeling it would be back eventually. With them, it always was.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm so glad I decided to write some Dasey. Endless scenes of UST. Lovin' it. XD  
_

 _After a few different options for this chapter, I went with Charli XCX's 'Famous.' "Come on, let's lose control!" ;D Muwahahaha._

 _Review?_


	8. 8: Darling, You Don't Know

_A/N: Two things:_

 _1) Thank you to everyone who has been so supportive as I've been posting, I love getting reviews and notifications when people add Repaid to their follows or favorites._

 _2) There is some serious upheaval happening in my life right now, so I haven't really been in the mood to write. On Tuesday I got a huge bombshell that basically equates to my school closing in a week. As you might expect, I'm pretty shaken up and have a lot of planning to do. I'm really not in the right headspace. Hopefully I'll be finding a new place to go and getting all that squared up, saying goodbye to all my friends and teachers, and all of that, and will be more in the writing headspace sometime later this week or next. Luckily, I still have another eight chapters written and ready to post, so I should be able to post semi-regularly even if I haven't written much more. (Also: I am still in need of a beta.)_

 _I'd like to thank sheteego, rainbowsherbert927, and DC2012 for the reviews (and the guest reviewer), vraiparadis for the favorite, and sheteego, Helena Light, and megmariemac for the follows._

* * *

Chapter Eight: Darling, You Don't Know

"Start coaching, huh?" Derek shot her a challenging glare. "Sorry, Princess, but _I'm_ still evaluating." He sat back down on the couch, leaning back and looking up at her. How he managed to keep his arrogant 'I'm the boss' attitude while _she_ was the one standing annoyed the hell out of her. As did his words. "You agreed, Case. You agreed to follow my instructions _to the letter_ ," he reminded her, and she sensed an edge of warning to his voice.

Casey shifted, uncomfortably, but covered her discomfort with sass and a scowl. "Sounds like someone's been reading too much housewife smut," she sneered, "-Should there be a contract? What, should I be picking out a safe word next?" Her words were quick, sharp, biting – and obviously a defense mechanism. Or, at least, obvious to her. Hopefully he would be completely clueless, not having her oh-so-in-depth one month of psychology courses to work with.

The challenge was still there as he smirked, eyes alight with – something. Something that made her stomach flip nauseatingly. His voice was lower than she'd expected – one that, had he been talking to anyone else, she would've labeled 'suggestive' – as he responded: "If you'd like." He just looked so _goddamn smug_ , it was… it was maddening! But he cracked a grin, voice lightening, as he added, in a mockery of seriousness; "Might I suggest 'rutabaga'?"

She glared. "Very funny." She did not sound amused.

He became slightly more serious. "But really, Princess," there was an odd touch of patience in his voice that she wasn't used to hearing, "I've got to figure out what you know before I can teach you what you don't."

Teach her? …Well, yeah, he'd said 'coach' but the way he was talking now… Ideas began to trickle, unbidden, into her imagination, and they all seemed far too tactile for comfort. What was it with that verb, 'teach,' when applied to interpersonal relationships that conjured such vivid imagery? Why was some part of her telling her to run? The part of her refusing to run, _that_ was more familiar. It was a part that was usually activated by Derek, every time he set a bet that she couldn't say no to. And this was one, in a way. He didn't think she could handle it.

She'd show him.

Her voice was syrupy sweet as she raised her chin defiantly. "Evaluate away." She'd just have to view this as a challenge. She knew Derek. She knew his game: he'd be waiting to make a complete fool of her in some very public way. Some way that would ruin her social life at Queen's for _at least_ the rest of the semester. But they weren't in public now. So as long as she stayed cautious when it came to things _outside_ the apartment, she should be fine. (Feeling suspicious, she swept her gaze around the apartment, checking for hidden cameras – nothing popped out as a potential hiding place.)

Derek had been fixing her with a level gaze, as though checking her commitment. After a moment he nodded, seeming assured, and checked his watch. She was a little offended. "I've got an invite to a thing tonight," (his specificity was astounding, she thought wryly,) "so we'll have to meet again at a later date." He suddenly seemed to think of something, "Actually, that would be good. Maybe I can get Novak or Getty to do a practice date-"

Casey's eyes widened: more people knowing that she needed a dating coach? _No thank you_. "-I'd really prefer if we kept this between us." She'd spoken so quickly that he'd raised an intrigued eyebrow at the outburst, making her blush slightly but not back down. "I figured you'd be a bit more… _discrete_ with the whole set-up thing." She added with a pointed gaze, then averted her eyes, voice dropping. "The fewer people know about this, the better." Casey knew she was giving him leverage, supplying him with a secret he could hold over her, but there was a true vulnerability in her words, the way she bit her lip, knowing the admission could be a huge mistake, and he hadn't ever _truly_ betrayed her trust when she'd allowed him to see her real anxieties. Then again, there was a first time for everything.

He nodded, evenly, not a trace of a joke on his face. "Point taken." And despite her better judgment, Casey thought she might actually trust him.

Once his point was made, however, the smirk was back. "But you've always been quite the keener: how do feel about homework?"

She also reverted to her previous attitude. "Usually, or coming from you?"

Derek ignored her. "I'd invite you to my thing tonight, but I don't think it's really your style." He was smirking – _again_. She wondered if he ever went more than an hour _without_ smirking. He probably smirked in his sleep. "Can you get to some sort of social gathering this weekend? A party, a bar, anything?"

Casey hesitated. She didn't usually seek out parties. "It's only the second month of term…"

He looked amused. "Jesus, Case, when do you _start_ being normal, the last month of classes?"

She glared. Again. "I'll have you know that next month will include _at least_ one party that I will be attending." That was true. The first play of the year was currently being workshopped, and they'd be having the cast party following closing mid-November. Plus there was strike night, though she was more likely to pass out than party.

"Wow, one whole party?" He glanced up at her briefly as he started scrolling through his phone. "Do you stay for the whole thing, or leave after the first hour?" Before she could argue, he was speaking again. "Looks like there's a party on Greek row at Deek house tonight, and a – oh god, nevermind, _Pumpkinfest_ won't attract the crowd you need," he muttered, "Oh, okay-" he nodded, looking at something on his phone. Where he was finding this information, Casey had no idea. "You ever been to the Varsity?" He named a pub just off campus that was a frequent haunt of QU students.

She hesitated. "Once…"

"Great. Go there. Tonight."

She raised her brows in affront. "Excuse me?"

Derek grinned. "You have to be able to flirt, Case. I know you don't want _me_ there, but if you bring me back… eh… five phone numbers? Complete with pics for your address book. There's your first assignment."

She'd gone pink at his mention of flirting, but was ignoring it, hoping it would go away. She wasn't a flirt. To take her mind off the discomfort of this so-called 'homework assignment' she did what she did best: complained about Derek. "I've only been here ten minutes, Oh Dating Coach Extraordinaire, is this all you dragged me out here for? Won't your stalkers get suspicious? –Or do you usually only last ten minutes?"

She hadn't meant her final comment to sound as blatantly sexual as it did. She hadn't realized how sexual it sounded until it was out of her mouth. But she wouldn't apologize or correct herself. She kept her head up, looking down her nose at him, an inaudible 'hmph' in her posture.

Derek cracked a smile. "And here I thought you were eager to get out of my company. Missed seeing me all the time, huh?" She refused to respond, so he just shrugged. "Fine. If you really want to… show me what you've got."

She just stood, the confusion leaking through onto her face.

"Flirt with me, Case."

* * *

 _A/N: This chapter it was hard to pick a title from the wealth of options within Alex Winston's 'Host.' Would I go with "_ _I hate what you say and I hate what you do"? Or "everybody knows all the honest ones lie"? "It's yours against mine"? In the end I went for "and you think you know me, darling, you don't know." I think it works._

 _Please be a responsible reader and review. :P_

 _Fun fact: I am very insecure about posting this due to the utter lack of research done on Kingston and QU. I am ashamed of myself. But at the same time, super excited to make fun of Derek for reading/watching Fifty Shades. Because we all know he thinks he's (a more sane, less abusive) Christian Grey._

 _Also, I've never actually ready Fifty Shades, I've just seen the movie once and seen a LOT of criticism. Not like I sound defensive or anything._


	9. 9: You Think I'm in Control

_A/N: Thanks to shyesplease, KnowPein, Balyndaba and Crystale for the reviews, KnowPein for the favorite, and Cassandraishere, MrsMichelle, Ravenclaw Dalek, kimkimduh, and xXCourageousXx for the follows!_

 _My whole living situation is still kinda up in the air, but I did a little bit of writing so I figured I could post another chapter. All of the notifications I've been getting have been like little sparklers to light up the gloom that is my life lately. (Ooh look at me all emo.) But really, I appreciate it a lot. And – fun fact – the 25_ _th_ _is by birthday. And also the last day for all but three people at my school/living situation. So I'm not expecting to have a very good birthday. Luckily, getting excited reviews, or follows or favorites, make me feel just a little more happy every time. =)_

* * *

Chapter Nine: You Think I'm in Control

" _Flirt with me, Case."_

This entire meeting had not been going the way Casey had expected. "I- I can't do that."

"You _can't_ flirt? You know _nothing_ about flirting?" Derek raised an eyebrow, tutting sarcastically, "This is worse than I thought."

"No, I mean - I can't- not wi-" She shut her eyes tight, bringing her hands up to her temples. Ugh, why was he doing this? Casey wasn't stupid, she wasn't blind, she knew that there was always… _something_ between them. Not like they liked each other. Or that they found each other attractive, 'cause that wasn't possible. Or that they even considered each other _remotely_ interesting, or _mildly_ intriguing, or even the _slightest_ _bit not awful_ … okay, maybe she could handle this. She was reading too much into it. Reading way too much into it. Just because she'd been pulling all the classic Klutzilla moves, and her face had gone through several days of sunset-like blush-cycles, didn't mean anything. Just that she was uncomfortable. And that discomfort was, of course, because she hated getting help from Derek. And that was it.

When she opened her eyes again, he was giving her that same smug smirk.

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice was small and tight, trying not to let on about just how much he was messing with her head right now.

His brow furrowed, smile faltering. "I told you. I owe you for the whole – you know, the jail thing."

He _must_ know that wasn't what she meant. He _had_ to know. Somehow this was all an elaborate tactic to humiliate her. It must be.

Derek just watched her, a tinge of curiosity coloring his features as he let her stew. And stew she did. The longer she was silent, the heavier the air in the room seemed to get.

"Do I need to go get a knife to cut this tension, or do you want to take a break?" If she didn't know better, she might've classified his tone as apologetic. Which only confused her more.

"Give me a second, okay?" She held up a finger. "I need to think."

He held up her forgotten bottle. "You think too much already."

She glanced between the bottle and his face. For the first time that night, he didn't look like the domineering jerk she knew from London. He looked the way he looked when he was doing the right thing. The brotherly thing.

 _The_ _ **brotherly**_ _thing_.

Casey did not use foul language lightly, but… Fuck everything, thinking was not going well for her.

She took the bottle and sat with a humph, crossing her legs and staring out the window as she took a long gulp. She needed to reset. Get rid of all of this internal crap and restart. And most definitely deny anything she may or may not be feeling right now. So she put her not-so-great lying skills to the test.

"Look…" she started, fingers knotting around the bottle in her hands, "…you know how I get when I try to flirt." She hoped the blush creeping up her neck would be attributed to embarrassment over the 'Klutzilla' issue, not the anxiety of trying to undo what had almost happened in their conversation.

He seemed willing to go with it, as he smirked, "Oh yes. Yes I do."

She felt a surge of annoyance – accompanied with something akin to relief – wash over her as she shot a glare at him. "Well I'd _prefer_ to avoid that, if at all possible." She felt her resolve strengthening with every word. Each second another brick in the wall between her and Derek was being stubbornly reinforced.

He seemed to be noticing it too, as he dropped the nice guy act to return to his pointed jibing. "I think we'd _all_ prefer to avoid Klutzilla." He stood, taking his (now empty – she must've missed him drinking more) bottle into the kitchen. As he rinsed it out (what) and dropped it into the recycling bin (double what), he added, "And, honestly, I expect your flirting game to be a complete train wreck."

She turned back around to face the couch, and heard him leaving the kitchen.

"But I do have to wonder:-"

Casey stiffened, hearing him approaching.

"-You've been a bit clumsy this whole time-"

She stilled as she felt him less than a foot away.

He put his hand on the back of her chair, leaning just slightly closer to her. "-And don't you usually only get all Klutzilla around guys you actually _like_?"

Her stomach jolted, angrily. She grit her teeth, even as goosebumps rose on the back of her neck. "Don't flatter yourself, Venturi," her voice was icy.

Derek's fingers just barely brushed her shoulder as he walked around her to sit back on the couch – at the touch, she clutched her beer bottle so tightly she worried she might break it. He put on a look of mock hurt. "What, you're telling me you _don't_ like me?" He held a hand to his chest, "But I'm your _brother_."

Her eyes narrowed. She had a feeling he would've found a way to ridicule her no matter how she'd answered his jibes. And either way would probably have brought up the sibling thing. " _Step_ brother."

The smirk was back. And he didn't even need to say anything to accompany it.

Luckily, she had plenty of anger building inside her to overwhelm any other confusing thoughts.

"Der-ek! I thought you said you'd be setting me up with Wes!" She stood, stomping her foot angrily. "If I'm just here for you to torment me-" She'd huffed her way over to the door, but he'd cut just in front of her to block it. Casey didn't back down, just folding her arms and glaring. Admittedly, she had folded her arms in that way he'd shown her. And, admittedly, he seemed a bit distracted, to the point that his eyes were now firmly focused over her shoulder after darting away from her cleavage. Maybe he'd actually had a point.

"I will!" He sounded a bit put out, but after a second or two met her eyes again, voice even once more. "I will, okay? I just didn't want you to go on a date until I knew you wouldn't fuck it up."

She glared. "I w-"

"Don't even try to tell me you won't, Princess, 'cause you will." He was slowly regaining the upper hand, but his position there seemed tenuous. He was cautious. And, surprisingly, bit his tongue for a moment, taking a breath. "…Look." He seemed resigned to his next words. "Go do your homework. Send me the contact info once you've got it. Then… I'll give you Gable's number."

Her heart leapt, and the surprise showed on her face. "Really?" All confusing thoughts about Derek were rushing out of her head.

He sighed. "Really."

She squealed.

"Christ, Spacey, go easy on my eardrums." He shot her a joking glare as he rubbed an ear, but he was cracking a smile, too.

Forgetting herself for a second, she threw her arms around Derek. "You're such a jerk, Derek." She pulled back and punched him lightly in the shoulder. "But thanks."

* * *

 _A/N: What a rollercoaster! …teeheehee. XD I may branch into some Derek-based narrative in the next chapter. Because, well… spoilers. You'll see._

 _In the meantime, this chapter's title is from the song 'Oh My God' by Ida Maria. I thought the kind of frantic heart pounding bass at the beginning fits well for the massive tension this chapter opens with. I imagine Casey quite wants to find a cure for what's ailing her, as well. And all of the lyrics, actually (there aren't many, it's a lot of repetition). Go check it out._

 _Sorry if I disappointed anyone by cutting out before the flirting test (no worries, it will return!)._

 _Please review! I love to hear what people think of what's happened, and what they guess might happen in the future. And who knows, if it's good I might just steal it (I'll be sure to give credit where credit is due). Thanks!_

 _P.S: I made a youtube playlist of the songs/vids for the first 10 chapters, viewable here: bit. ly (slash) 1Js2Osw_


	10. 10: What Do You Fear

_A/N: First off, thanks to FreeFallin15, DC2012, Kaioo, Balyndaba, shyesplease, rainbowsherbert927 and KnowPein for the reviews, and thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday. =) Thank you to FreeFallin15, Kaioo, chocolatechipmuffins04, fangirl2fanwoman, and for the follows and to chocolatechipmuffins04 and for the favorites. Another sad announcement: I will be deprived of internet for one month starting October 7/8_ _th_ _. I will try to post my last day with internet, but who knows._

 _Now, onto the story._

 _Note: This chapter utilizes text messaging. For the sake of this story, * are received messages and – are sent messages. Bold will be used to accentuate texts sent long after the time stamp of the previous text._

* * *

Chapter Ten: What Do You Fear

What was he doing.

This was a horrible idea.

When he'd suggested setting her up with Wes, he figured it would mostly be a power trip: him telling her what to do and wear and how to speak… it'd be fun to boss her around. And all under the guise of paying off his debt.

But then she'd done the first assignment just a little _too_ well and looked just a little _too_ good, and he was coming down off some harsh rejection (why else had he gotten into a bar fight, really, he was usually the type to dip out when things got to the physical altercation stage – except when he was angry and trying to forget himself)…

Ugh.

His past with Casey (or his… y'know… f… f… _feelings_ toward her) was complicated. Of course he'd thought she was cute when he saw her (even with the bangs and the retainer, she had potential). But then when they'd moved in, she'd somehow gotten cuter. So he'd told himself she was off limits, and focused less on how much of a distraction she was and instead on how frustrating it was to have her invading his house. But then, at some point, she got hot. Like… really attractive. And he could mostly ignore it as long as she was scowling at him, so he kept getting her angry. Or he avoided her. Or he focused his attention on girls who _didn't_ live just a wall away. And that had worked for (almost) all of high school (with the exception of a few very… _difficult_ moments).

But when he'd asked her to dress sexy (and it had felt like _such a trip_ to get her to do so), she made a far more valiant attempt than he'd expected. And she'd delivered in a way that wasn't cheap or easy or obvious, just…. _subtly_ _sexy_. No spiked heels, no skintight dress, no 'smoky eyes,' just simple confidence. He'd been all too eager to treat her – when in the public eye – the way he'd treat his usual Friday night dates. Which was why he had to keep reminding himself, and sometimes her, that she was _off limits_.

In the elevator…

He groaned, remembering how perfectly his hand contoured to her body. He'd avoided looking right at her, refusing to admit he was scared to see how she'd react. He'd felt the warmth radiating off of her as she tensed up under his touch, seen her wide eyes in the corner of his vision, but he'd kept his cool. It had to be an act. An act which, apparently, was more than convincing enough for the fourth-floor stalkers, one of whom looked disappointed and the other (Jules, the less serious of the two) intrigued as he'd shot them a grin.

He truly had enjoyed himself.

He'd enjoyed himself when he pulled her up against him in the doorway, when she'd huffed into a seat, when she'd stripped off his jacket, let him look her over, when he'd glimpsed the tempting hint of red down the front of her shirt – enjoyed himself particularly when he'd popped a button open – when she'd fallen back on her ass, and when she'd gotten in his face…

The longer he knew Casey, the more he liked hearing her say his name. It used to be just gratification that he'd successfully pulled a prank, or gotten on her nerves, and sometimes it had been irritating. Now though…

Calling it an addiction was way too melodramatic and girly for him. It was just… fun. Just fun. Whether she was squealing or sighing or whining or growling, his name on her lips was delightful.

And fuck did he want her to say it again.

But that wasn't going to happen.

If he was torturing her every time he emphasized their familial relationship, he was torturing himself double. Cause him and Casey… no way. Not ever.

Then again, he'd never claimed to be responsible.

It could be her job to keep things professional.

It was his job to coach her. And if that meant getting her to bend to his every whim… well, that was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

* * *

It was 11:03 P.M. when she sent him the last of five new contacts she'd made at the Varsity. He'd been raking in a good $200 at a friend's poker night, and hadn't been able to answer until he got home.

 _Spacey_

* that's the last of them! (11:03pm)

\- congrats ( **11:53pm** )

* Wesleys #? (11:57pm)

He hesitated.

He knew what he was about to do was wrong. He knew it was entirely unethical. And he almost did it anyway.

Pulling up his Google account, he went to set up a new phone number.

 _Spacey_

* ? (12:03am)

Was he really about to pull this scam? Pretend to be Wes and make a complete and utter fool of his stepsister? She'd walk into her class, thinking they'd been flirting via text all weekend, and he would (still) have no clue who she was. They'd set up dates and she'd end up alone and dejected. _Yeah, he would_.

No. No he wouldn't.

But he also wouldn't give her Wes' number.

 _Spacey_

\- change of plans (12:08am)

* ? DEREK! (12:09am)

\- I don't trust you (12:10am)

\- got you a practice texter (12:10am)

* ? the hell is that? (12:11am)

\- a guy who agreed to flirt with you by text (12:13am)

\- til your competent enough to grad to Wes (12:14am)

* So you're my pimp now? (12:15am)

\- COACH princess (12:17am)

* ? (12:17am)

\- hes a friend from London. Guy I knew in primary school (12:20am)

What the fuck did he think he was doing?

 _Spacey_

* I don't trust you as far as I can throw you Venturi (12:22am)

\- I don't recall you ever trying to throw me McD (12:24am)

* Exactly (12:25am)

\- (sassy lady emoji) (12:26am)

\- would I lie to you princess? (12:26am)

* Yes. Constantly. (12:28am)

\- :P just text him (12:30am)

Derek didn't do 'guilt.' But he was definitely feeling a tug in his abdomen as he sent her his Google phone number.

He was such a shitty person.

* * *

 _A/N: The title for this chapter is from a very entertaining song/video about communication called 'Awkward' by San Cisco. I'd highly recommend watching the music video. And the song has the gem of a lyric: "I got your message last night – you didn't get mine, cause you've been calling me for days." Check it out, let me know if you think I steered you wrong in a review. Remember, there's a playlist right here: bit. ly/ 1Js2Osw_

 _Or just leave a review because you're a good person._

 _Also, I'm curious to know if the text layout makes sense. Before I used the less-than/greater-than symbols, but they're used in coding html, so they don't show up when moved onto FFnet._

 _Let me know what you think!_


	11. 11: Some Boys are Sleeping Alone

_A/N: Thank you to KnowPein, sheteego, rainbowsherbert927, Lcsaf, kissa621, shyesplease and Balyndaba for the reviews, and AnniexLove, SitarLover, and kissa621 for the follows._

 _Just a reminder, in texts - is sent messages, * is received messages. _-(words)-_ is a strikethrough, meaning it was deleted._

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Some Boys Are Sleeping Alone

Derek was not expecting any more from Casey that night. He expected her to go to sleep, and possibly never even text this so-called 'practice texter.' (In the morning, he knew he'd regret the decision to make this fake person. But, naturally, he'd deny that regret until it went away.)

What he hadn't expected was, after fifteen minutes of radio silence on his cell from Spacey, to have his computer ding quietly. A new text to his Google phone number. And it was from her number. He quickly programmed it in.

 _Casey (12:47am):_ Hi, this is Casey.

 _Casey (12:48am):_ So I guess Derek told you about me?

He didn't know what to say. Would his 'friend' have been awake at this time? Shit, he should've come up with this backstory ahead of time. Fuck him for being so impulsive.

On a Friday night? Yes. This so-called friend would be awake until at least 2 A.M. (Honestly, he was more surprised that Case was still up.) After a few minutes of consideration, he decided the kid's name would be… Dan. Simple. Classic. And incredibly common. Dan the Man from London, ON.

 _(12:53am):_ nothing too bad ;)

 _(12:54am):_ i hear im supposed to be teaching you the lost art of flirting via text

 _Casey (12:55am):_ So, what's your name?

Derek took a deep breath, pushing away all the guilt that was starting to bear down on him. He had to get in prank headspace.

 _(12:56am):_ dan B)

 _Casey (12:57am):_ And what are you doing up at 1am Dan?

…Derek faltered. This was gonna be so weird. But… maybe it was giving him a chance, here. A chance to talk to Casey _without_ the foregone conclusion of drama.

 _(12:59am):_ had a poker game with my boys. made myself some $$

 _Casey (1:01am):_ Your boys, huh? Was it no girls allowed?

 _(1:03am):_ completely. i could lose my man cred just by mentioning it to someone of the fairer sex ;)

 _Casey (1:05am):_ That'd be a shame

He sensed that she had something else to say, but his computer didn't do the same three-dot bubble his phone did when someone was typing. He hesitated, but then it came.

 _Casey (1:06am):_ Aren't you supposed to be asking ME questions too? :P

 __-(1:08am):_ you really are a keene-_

He stopped typing. Nope. Dan was nice, and Dan was into Casey. No name-calling. But what would he say?

 _(1:09am):_ you want me to ask something? ok: what are you wearing?

 _Casey (1:10am):_ I hope you're kidding

 _(1:11am):_ of course im kidding lol

 _(1:12am):_ loosen up casey its past 1 in the AM

 _(1:12am):_ and I should probably add that im a bit tipsy

(He was.)

 _(1:14am):_ sorry. didnt mean to offend. (blind monkey emoji)

 _Casey (1:15am):_ Sorry, I'm new to the whole texting flirting thing

 _Casey (1:15am):_ Hence the lessons, lol

 _(1:16am):_ are you up to anything tonight?

 _Casey (1:17am):_ Just chatting with you :)

 _Casey (1:18am):_ To be honest, I usually go to sleep by 10pm lol

 __-(1:19am):_ You should never admit that to anyone.-_

 _(1:20am):_ what, a cutie like you? sleeping through the weekend? smh

This was far more difficult than he expected. The part of him that was supposed to be teaching her wanted to point out all the things she was doing wrong, but if he told her about them (as himself, of course) then she wouldn't trust Dan. Dan, the nonexistent person. Who was more trustworthy than Derek, the real-life stepbrother. What was he getting himself into?

 _Casey (1:22am):_ Not asleep yet :)

 _Casey (1:22am):_ But will be soon (sleep emoji) I'm wiped

He was figuring out what to respond when she added,

 _Casey (1:24am):_ Ttyl?

 _(1:25am):_ np. sweet dreams, Princess ;)

Fuck. Had he given it away? Derek worried for a sold minute before rationalizing that Princess worked as a pet name as well as an insult (though he liked to use it for her because of her reaction to it), and that he probably would've told this Dan guy _something_ about Casey, and maybe mentioned the Princess thing. Still… he worried.

 _Casey (1:30am):_ Night :)

So… that was that?

Oddly enough, a second later his phone vibrated.

 _Spacey_

* What's smh? And np? (1:31am)

* I think I know np but I'm not sure (1:31am)

\- TRYING TO SLEEP, KEENER (1:32am)

\- GOOGLE IT (1:32am)

* Calm tf down der (1:33am)

* Lol, like "calm the freak down, there" (1:34am)

* Ahahaha (1:34am)

She was obviously lacking sleep. For some reasons she got even _more_ interested in puns and wordplay when she was loopy from sleep deprivation.

 _Spacey_

\- Go tf to sleep. (1:35am)

* FINE. :P (1:35am)

* Also I talked to Dan, what did you tell him about me? (1:37am)

\- GO TF TO SLEEP KEENER (1:39am)

* Fine. But you're massively abusing your caps lock. (1:41am)

* Thought you should know (1:41am)

\- DON'T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE (1:42am)

* Asshole (1:44am)

\- _-Cunt-_

He erased that. She couldn't handle that. And he really didn't mean it.

 _Spacey_

 _-_ Language, Princess :P (1:46am)

* (sleep emoji) (1:47am)

Derek sighed. He had a feeling this would get complicated fast.

But for now, sleep. He'd have to think about it in the morning.

* * *

Casey was shocked when she woke up. It was _after 9._ Meaning she'd slept _through her alarm clock_. She hadn't woken up after 9 since… well probably since some Derek prank in high school. And this time it was all her fault – her fault for staying up texting with Derek and Dan.

Thinking of the new contact, Casey pulled up their text conversation.

 _Dan ?_

\- Hence the lessons, lol (1:15am)

* are you up to anything tonight? (1:16am)

\- Just chatting with you :) (1:17am)

\- To be honest, I usually go to sleep by 10pm lol (1:18am)

Why had she ever admitted to that? Now he was going to think she was a total loser.

 _Dan ?_

* what, a cutie like you? sleeping through the weekend? smh (1:20am)

Now that she saw it again, Casey quickly Googled the term. Apparently it meant 'shaking my head.' She hoped that was said in a joking manner. Given the 'cutie' statement earlier, she assumed so. She also assumed she hadn't totally messed up in admitting her usual bedtime.

 _Dan ?_

\- Not asleep yet :) (1:22am)

\- But will be soon (sleep emoji) I'm wiped (1:22am)

\- Ttyl? (1:24am)

She'd texted three times in a row? Wasn't that some sort of faux pas?

 _Dan ?_

* np. sweet dreams, Princess ;) (1:25am)

\- Night :) (1:30am)

Huh. Was 'Princess' some super common pet name or something? She'd never had anyone call her that except Derek, and it was always an insult with him. But followed with the little winky face, it certainly wasn't an insult. Or at least – god – she hoped it wasn't. Oh no. Ohhhh no. She was starting to get in her head. Last night she'd been slightly buzzed and tired out of her mind, but now she was sober and well awake and her mind needed to analyze everything.

She scrolled into her text messages with Derek.

 _Derek Venturi_

* Go tf to sleep. (1:35am)

\- FINE. :P (1:35am)

\- Also I talked to Dan, what did you tell him about me? (1:37am)

Oh no. That probably sounded desperate, didn't it? She sounded like a teenage girl (nevermind if that's what she was for another few months).

 _Derek Venturi_

* GO TF TO SLEEP KEENER (1:39am)

Typical.

 _Derek Venturi_

 _-_ Fine. But you're massively abusing your caps lock. (1:41am)

\- Thought you should know (1:41am)

Ha. She totally showed him.

 _Derek Venturi_

* DON'T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE (1:42am)

\- Asshole (1:44am)

* Language, Princess :P (1:46am)

\- (sleep emoji) (1:47am)

She scowled. So he'd called her Princess, too? …Maybe she didn't like Dan doing it. (Not that she liked Derek doing it either, she didn't like either of them doing it, but she couldn't exactly tell Derek to stop. Or, rather; she had, and he didn't.)

She let her mind percolate as she got up and got ready for the day. She needed to figure out just what was going on with this new guy. Was he spying for Derek? How was Derek supposed to know when to give her Wesley's number? Hmm…

This was getting too confusing. And she didn't expect Derek to make it any clearer. So she hit up the one other person who might have an answer.

 _Dan ?_

\- Night :) (1:30am)

\- …aaaand morning! :) ( **9:46am** )

And then she waited.

And waited.

 _Dan ?_

\- I know girls aren't supposed to text more than twice in a row or something, but I need to ask: how is this thing with Derek working out? (9:58am)

\- Like are you going to be sharing our convos with him? Cause I'd rather you didn't (10:00am)

\- Also, not to pry, but how do you two know each other anyway? I never heard you mentioned when we lived in London (10:11am)

Still no response. She started to wonder if Derek was more likely to answer.

She'd been devouring her breakfast, eyes still trained on her phone anxiously, to no avail. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the table, lips pursing.

Finally, she couldn't take it. So she texted. And she broke her personal rules about foul language.

 _Derek Venturi_

\- (sleep emoji) (1:47am)

\- Wake up shithead ( **10:25am** )

She ended up occupying herself with other things (most of said things being homework) while she awaited a response.

 _Derek Venturi_

\- Wake up shithead (10:25am)

* What did I say about language? ( **10:41am** )

* And good morning to you too (10:41am)

\- ABOUT GODDAMN TIME (10:42am)

* Your massively abusing your caps lock Case (10:44am)

* Thought you should know (10:45am)

* :P (10:45am)

\- You're* (10:45am)

\- And fuck you Venturi (10:46am)

There may have been a tiny thrill at using the F-word in its purest form.

 _Derek Venturi_

* HA you wish mcD (10:46am)

\- So what's the deal with this Dan guy? (10:47am)

* ? (10:49am)

\- He seems decent. How is he friends with you? (10:49am)

* Ouch Spacey (10:50am)

\- :P (10:50am)

* We played hockey with each other back in primary school (10:53am)

* Then he switched into some private school (10:54am)

* Got shipped off (10:54am)

\- It's weird, I never heard you mention him before (10:56am)

* Well unlike you I have more than 3 friends (10:57am)

* You don't know all my friends princess (10:58am)

* Deal with it. (10:58am)

\- Let it be known that I am glaring (11:00am)

* Dulie noted (11:01am)

\- Not how you spell duly (11:01am)

* All hail grammar nazi (11:02am)

\- Spelling, actually (11:02am)

\- And if you're going for accuracy it'd be all heil ;P (11:03am)

* Fucking keener (11:04am)

\- How is this practice texter thing working? (11:07am)

* You tell me. Did he answer? (11:08am)

\- I mean are you going to talk to him about what we talk about? (11:08am)

* So you've talked? How was it? Do you like him? (11:10am)

\- ? Since when do you care? (11:11am)

* Whatever just wondering (11:13am)

\- He's okay. We barely talked (11:14am)

* Ouch, getting the silent treatment already? :P (11:14am)

\- Oh ha ha. You didn't answer my q (11:15am)

* Not sure, I'll get back to you (11:18am)

Casey frowned. It seemed like he really should've thought this through when he set it up with Dan. But, of course, Derek wasn't exactly a planner, like she was. She became more irked as she thought. He probably didn't even have a plan on how to set her up with Wesley. He was probably just leading her on. She huffed angrily, glaring at her phone.

In all honesty, she hated texting. There were too many variables she couldn't control for, and too many rules on how to appear cool. And now she was getting evaluated on it? By _Derek_ of all people?

What had she gotten herself into?

* * *

 _A/N: This chapter's title is once again Death Cab for Cutie (one of my favorite bands, I will likely have another song or two by them before this story is over), this time from 'Some Boys,' which is a song I adore and have listened to on repeat. I thought the song had the right mellow tone for post-midnight conversations lit by blue screens in single-person bedrooms._

 _Has anyone been keeping up with the playlist? (Found at bit. ly/1Js2Osw) Or listening to any of the songs?_

 _Let me know in a review!_

 _I will be gone for about a month, but I do intend to continue! Thanks to everyone for they continued support, and wish me luck!_


	12. 12: I Hope You Know What You've Done

_A/N: Here's the deal: Where I am currently living does not have internet. And I do not have a car. And it's getting into snow season. So The likelihood that I can post regularly is low (I'm currently home for 5 days for the holidays). I apologize and I thank everyone who's stuck with me despite my disappearance. I'll post again as soon as I'm able. And I'll get back to writing, too. For now, enjoy chapter 12._

* * *

Chapter Twelve: I Hope You Know What You've Done

What had he gotten himself into? This had been a huge mistake. He drummed his fingers on his bed. After a couple of minutes of internal berating he dragged himself out of bed and went to his desk, booting up his laptop.

 _Casey (9:58am):_ I know girls aren't supposed to text more than twice in a row or something, but I need to ask: how is this thing with Derek working out?

 _Casey (10:00am_ ): Like are you going to be sharing our convos with him? Cause I'd rather you didn't

 _Casey (10:11am):_ Also, not to pry, but how do you two know each other anyway? I never heard you mentioned when we lived in London

Shit. This was going to get so complicated. He took a few deep breaths, considering his options. He had hoped his guilt over deceiving his stepsister would go away with sleep. Instead, it got worse.

 _(11:31am):_ sorry was out to brunch w/ friends

 _(11:32am):_ didnt mean to keep you waiting beautiful ;)

 _Casey (11:36am):_ It's ok just wondering how you and Derek are evaluating my texting skills

 _(11:37am):_ i was gonna send screencaps of chat but i can just summarize instead if you want

 _(11:38am):_ or tell you direct?

 _Casey (11:38am)_ : Or not (grit teeth emoji)

 _Casey (11:39am):_ I don't know if I could take the criticism tbh

 _(11:41am):_?

 _Casey (11:41am):_ Oh you want me to choose?

 _(11:42am):_ i figured you would

Shit, was he being rude? A little too blunt? This was supposed to be flirting, he needed to remember that.

 _(11:43am):_ you seem like a confident independent type ;)

Not exactly flirting, but Casey probably wouldn't know the difference, as long as he kept it up with the winky faces.

 _Casey (11:45am):_ I…. Guess? I mean, screen caps are ok as long as it's not yknow… (blind monkey emoji)

 _(11:46am):_ (smirk emoji)

 _(11:46am):_ are you expecting it to get embarrassing?

 _(11:46am):_ cause i can take it there ;)

 _Casey (11:47am):_ I'm not ruling anything out ;)

 _(11:48am):_ well A+ for banter so far

 _(11:48am):_ and good practical use of emojis

 _Casey (11:49am):_ Thanks, I try ;)

 _(11:49am):_ woah 2 winks in 2 min? what is the world coming to!

 _Casey (11:50am): :)_

 _Casey (11:50am):_ Should I go for three?

 _(11:50am):_ …

 _Casey (11:51am):_ ;)

 _(11:51am):_ you slay me Spacey

 _Casey (11:52am):_ Seriously? Did he tell you ALL of my nicknames?

Fuck. Fuck, he did it again.

 _(11:53am):_ yep! but im sure I'll come up with some of my own too ;)

 _Casey (11:54am):_ Come up with any zingers so far?

 _(11:54am):_ just Sexy ;P

 _Casey (11:55am):_ Look who's going wink happy now! ;)

 _(11:55am):_ ;)

 _(11:55am):_ ttyl got a thing

 _Casey (11:56am):_ Ttyl! ;) lol

…Was it so bad that he got the same satisfaction having Casey flirt with Dan as he did when girls flirted with him via text? He had to stop himself from smirking when she sent her first winky face. It was like seeing her all dressed up for him: weird, but at the same time incredibly satisfying. He liked corrupting her. It just felt so wrong. Y'know… in the right way.

But he couldn't keep this up. For one, it'd be super obvious if she ever tried texting Dan while she was over for her 'lessons.' Which is why he decided to delegate.

* * *

"Hehey, Jonesy!" He leaned back in his desk chair, propping his feet up next to his keyboard, hand loosely gripped around the phone at his ear. "I've got a proposition for ya…"

Fifteen minutes of backstory and a password change later, Derek left the Google phone log open on his laptop as he changed for the day. He had a 3:00 hockey practice and was eager to move up from the second string to a starting position (what, you thought a sophomore would be a starting forward? nope), which meant some serious dedication to the team. But in the meantime, before practice, he'd hit up the café on the quad – or, as he sometimes referred to it, the Aviary – to check out the local fauna (aka birdwatching, aka girl-watching).

Before he stepped out, he checked his computer. Garrett Jones (aka Jonesy) had taken over as Dan from London, making it – he hoped – one less thing to worry about.

 _(12:16pm):_ So Casey… what are you into?

 _Casey (12:19pm):_ You mean besides ragging on my stepbrother whenever I get a chance? Lol

 _Casey (12:19pm):_ Well I'm sure Derek told you I'm really into school

What a keener.

 _Casey (12:20pm):_ I'm also a dancer and lately I've been getting interested in yoga too

 _(12:20pm):_ So you like activities that let you wear skintight clothes? Hot ;)

 _Casey (12:21pm):_ I actually do standard yoga, not hot yoga ;P

Well, that seemed to be going well.

* * *

Casey was feeling surprisingly capable. She wasn't so bad at this whole texting flirting hullabaloo. A feeling she promptly shared with Dan.

Five minutes later, however…

 _Derek Venturi_

* Never EVER use the word hullabaloo when talking to anyone under 80 (2:10pm)

* And while we're at it try to keep your whole keener status on the dl (2:11pm)

\- So now I'm getting notes huh? Did he send you screen caps of all of our conversation? (2:12pm)

* Not all, just the bad parts (2:12pm)

* In other words: most (2:12pm)

\- PSH yeah right I've been doing really well at this (2:13pm)

* Sure whatever princess (smirk emoji) (2:13pm)

* I've got practice I'll ttyl (2:14pm)

\- Whatever (2:14pm)

\- WAIT when are you gonna give me Wesley's #? (2:15pm)

\- Or give him mine? (2:15pm)

\- ? ? (2:15pm)

* * *

Derek did not text back. Mostly because, well, he had no clue about the number business. He knew he'd have to, eventually, but for some reason the idea of setting his stepsister up with QU's most eligible bachelor made the edges of his lips turn down. Not a full scowl, sure, but if he thought about it too much he started to feel the wrinkles forming between his eyebrows.

Well, there was an easy solution to that: don't think about it. It was a coping technique Derek had been using for years, and it never seemed to fail. (Or, if it did, he didn't think about it long enough to recognize that it had.) And it would be especially easy to not think about it if he focused his attention on practice.

* * *

During the brief 'take ten' that the team got between drills, Derek pulled out his cell. His mind had been wandering while he'd cycled through the line of teammates practicing their slap shots. And it had wandered onto Casey, and the training he was supposed to be giving her.

Of course, it hadn't wandered onto any of the more conflicting thoughts he'd had about that training, as those thoughts fell into the category of things he didn't think about.

Instead, he'd become firm in his resolve to test her flirting skills in person. And he should probably make sure she knew how to loosen up – if she went to a party and tried dancing the way she'd been taught, she'd look like the biggest try-hard on the planet. But the likelihood that she'd let him drag her to a party – at least this early in the game – was staggeringly low. No, he had to come up with something else.

And he did. And his mind had three very different opinions on that. But, as always, he pushed away the things he didn't want to dwell on, and focused on just how hilarious it would be to see Spacey humiliated. In a controlled environment, of course.

 _Spacey_

* ? (2:15pm)

\- Same time same place tonight ( **4:35pm** )

\- Same dress code (4:35pm)

\- If you even own anything better that fits the bill (4:36pm)

\- (smirk emoji) (4:36pm)

* Aren't four texts in a row a little pushy Venturi? (4:38pm)

* I'm learning my proper texting etiquette from Dan and he says fit it in 3 or less (4:38pm)

\- I'm the exception to all rules mcD (4:39pm)

\- Especially yours (4:39pm)

\- Thought you'd know that by now (4:39pm)

\- I do what I want (4:40pm)

\- :P (4:40pm)

* I see what you did there (4:40pm)

* You must think you're very clever (4:41pm)

\- I do princess (4:41pm)

\- Because I am (4:41pm)

\- Tonight. 8:00. My place. Be there or – wait your already a square, guess that doesn't work (4:42pm)

* Oh ha ha :P (4:42pm)

* And it's you're (4:42pm)

\- All heil grammar nazi (4:43pm)

\- Gotta go practice (4:43pm)

* :P

* * *

 _A/N (written pre-hiatus): This chapter title took_ _ **forever**_ _. I went through about four different songs before settling on 'Best Behavior' by We Are Scientists. (Other snippets I tried were "Let's not make it harder than it has to be" from 'Girls Chase Boys' by Ingrid Michaelson, "Oh no, what have I begun" from 'AhHa' by Nate Ruess, and "He's never sorry" from 'Nobody Cares' by the 88.) 'Best Behavior' won for the overall mood of the sound and lyrics. Derek is being a dick, and the lyrics fit with that (e.g. "You gotta want to be good – but lately I don't feel like behaving," or "our best behavior is really not that great"). Also, it's got some grungy guitar in there and messy rock. Makes me think of Derek._

 _Do other people also consider Derek more of a grungy guitar guy?_

 _(You know what's coming.)_

 _ **Let me know in a review!**_

 _Or tell me literally anything else, I love hearing what you think might happen, and how things are going in your opinion. And feedback on music choices is_ _ **awesome**_ _and I want more of it!_

 _A/N (post-hiatus... or during hiatus?): Again, so sorry for the lag. I'll try to post on the 27th if I can while I'm at the airport. Or before then. I forget when my flight is. But once I'm back home I'm not sure when I'll have internet again. All my apologies._


	13. 13: This Obsession's Not Platonic

_A/N: As before, I apologize for the lag. I'd like to thank KnowPein, Balyndaba, Miguel51, Dark-Supernatural-Angel, jperks, and the guests for their reviews. I appreciate the support and the feedback. Also, thanks to Loves-life555, kidcrooner, Booklover63, TeenLove332, DeaththeKidbemine9, margreat, melodykay10, Jbislove1234, yamilaruiz, Miguel51, daseylover101, fredgeorge forever2011, indefinitely undecided, angelx420x2000, Sandraanataliaa, sockmonky, beianzhen, orangepurple, fantasyfreak23, Dark-Supernatural-Angel, ichigo y makoto-kun, AnnaliaVictoria, maribelle114, , imagine-your-life333, Blaze, jperks, and notabadday for following. And thanks to kidcrooner, TeenLove332, melodykay10, yamilaruiz, Miguel51, RoseDiamond413, daseylover101, angelx420x2000, sockmonky, ichigo y makoto-kun, bonniereads, AnnaliaVictoria, and jperks for the favorites._

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: This Obsession's Not Platonic

Casey would never admit that she enjoyed her texted spats with her stepbrother. But she did. It was just easier to be civil in small doses. And it was hard to yell in texts without being incredibly aware of how clunky caps lock was.

After pleading with Alicia to put off her Saturday evening plans, she was able to pin down her suitemate long enough to pick a new ("more sexy?" she'd requested) outfit. Alicia had rolled her eyes, but complied with the request.

And, after searching, they realized that Casey didn't exactly own 'sexy' clothes.

After twenty minutes of Casey whining that it wasn't fair and she didn't want to look easy, Alicia had given up and left for her date, leaving Casey feeling very put-out and unprepared. With another twenty minutes of sulking, she'd finally allowed herself to wear what she'd been _slightly_ terrified of wearing.

When she arrived at Derek's apartment (un-escorted this time, and not as worried about being watched by the Stalkers), she was only barely shivering in the October air, and wearing the following objectionable clothing items:

Her second (of three) 'sexy' bras (this one black with white lace), who's cups were just barely covered - and straps even less covered - by

A red ruched-sided sweetheart-necked top with the skinniest of skinny straps (previously only worn for dance performances), paired with

Red platform heels (in a move that would prove she was totally not clumsy and very capable of managing six-inch heels)

She'd also borrowed the following items from Alicia, after much begging and pleading:

A pair of black low-rise unintentionally-cropped skinny jeans (no way would she have a repeat wardrobe malfunction with a skirt, even if the pants were short for her where they fit Alicia and a little too snug on her hips where they fit her suitemate loosely) with zips on the legs that paired well with

A cropped black leather jacket with zips on the pockets and silver studs along the shoulders (she kinda missed Derek's, to be honest), the bad-ass-ery of which was emphasized by

Blood red lipstick (oddly enough, Casey did own this – a remnant from that time she was in Little Shop of Horrors – but she was slightly obsessive over expiration dates and needed a replacement tube)

Unlike last time, Casey had not bothered pulling back her hair at all, spending a good ten minutes blow drying it upside down to get a tousled 'voluminous' look (after which she'd had a horrible head rush and needed to sit down to blink the sight back into her eyes). And after the amount of time she spent prepping, he had better be impressed. She felt like she belonged in some girl gang from the 1950's (though her cat eye was far subtler). Alicia would approve (and she did; Casey sent a full-length pic to her suitemate before she left the dorm and Alicia had responded with: _'hot mama! Now stop texting me I'm trying to get laid'_ ).

Casey buzzed at the entrance for Derek's apartment.

"Hello?"

She hesitated. That was not Derek's voice. And it didn't quite sound like what-his-face… the Novak kid. It must've been the other one. What was his name again? Getty… John Getty? She had no clue.

"Hi, I'm here for Derek?"

"Right. Yeah, come on up."

And with that there was a click and the door was opened.

Casey was starting to think this wasn't going to be horrible. But then she got to the elevator.

She watched as the numbers ticked from four, to three, to two, to one, to L for lobby.

As the doors dinged open, Casey's stomach lurched. Because there were two girls in it, staring at her and smiling broadly. And, even though she didn't recognize them, she had a feeling she knew who they were.

"You're here for Derek?" The first one – the dirty blonde girl with thick black glasses clad in PJ pants and a gigantic grey sweatshirt – asked, as Casey stood awkwardly outside the elevator. (They made no effort to leave.)

"I-" she stuttered, feeling the seeping heat of a blush starting (again?).

"Get in, come on!" The other girl – an Asian girl with nearly identical glasses to her friend, wearing yoga pants, a slouchy t-shirt and a messenger bag – gestured eagerly for her to enter.

Casey didn't want to. She did _not_ want to be trapped in an elevator with the fourth floor Stalkers. Especially not if they were going to – and she had a feeling they were going to – ask her about Derek for the whole ride up. But she did not look forward to walking up eight flights in six-inch heels. So, after a moment's hesitation during which the blonde jammed her finger repeatedly into the 'door open' button, Casey allowed herself a mental sigh as she stepped in.

"I'm Kit," the Asian girl thrust her hand forward, grabbing Casey's and shaking it firmly. Casey noticed her eyes flick over Casey's hand as though taking measurements or something. "No manicure? Really?"

Casey's mouth opened to retort, but she had barely thought a word before-

"Ignore her," the blonde advised, shooting Casey a grin and pulling out a small notepad from one of her pockets. "Okay, first thing's first-" Casey's throat tightened, knowing they were going to ask her her name, but she was surprised when the girl instead asked, "-how old are you?"

"I- I don't think that's-"

"This data is for the future, hon. _Do it for the children_ ," the blonde urged.

"Ew!" Casey's lips twisted in disgust, "Derek is _not_ going to be dating children." _He's not even 'dating' me!_ She thought, but held her tongue.

"What's your grade?" the other- Kit, asked, more tactfully, "And how tall are you?"

"Uh- sophomore, and-"

But Kit had already pulled out a measuring tape.

"Is this- entirely-" Casey could barely speak.

"Did you make a note of the lipstick?" Kit asked Jules, completely ignoring just how uncomfortable their subject was with all of the notes being taken on her.

"You aren't even going to ask my name?" Casey was a little offended.

Jules stared at her, blankly. "Why would we care about names? How do names even slightly relate to the data?"

Kit was shaking her head, "Names ruin the anonymity of the data collection," she admonished, now pulling the measuring tape around Casey's waist, then – before she had a chance to let out more than a protesting scoff – her chest (below the jacket! Really!) and hips.

"So this is-" Casey paused, brow furrowing as Jules held up a fan of paint samples next to her hair, "-this is some kind of… data set?"

"Did he kiss on the first date?" Jules asked, with a new touch of rather unprofessional interest.

"Um- no." How was she even supposed to answer that?

"Interesting…"

Kit was nodding, even as the elevator began to slow, hitting the eighth floor, and answered, to the question Casey barely remembered asking what with the rush of things; "Our final for statistical analysis, actually."

"Oh." Because that made sense. Well, at least, it kinda did. Way more sense than stalkers.

"Also, because one day I intend for Derek to fall madly in love with me." Kit said this with a completely straight face. Casey wasn't sure how to respond. The doors dinged open.

"Have fun!" Jules grinned and nudged Casey out of the elevator doors before pushing '4' and then jamming her finger into the 'door close' button again.

Casey's head was still spinning and she was… at a loss for words.

* * *

 _A/N: This is the second chapter that almost got a clip from 'Girls Chase Boys' by Ingrid Michaelson (thanks to Kit and Jules). But in the end, since that didn't *quite* work for Casey, I went for a lyric from the frantically energetic (as I imagine the elevator scene to be) 'I Think I Like it' by Mojo Magnet. If you listen to this song, you will want to dance._

 _By now you know the drill: [Insert question here?]_ _ **Let me know in a review!**_

 _But really, I appreciate every review, favorite, and follow I get on anything I write. So keep 'em comin!_


	14. 14: I Won't Be Somebody's Hero

_A/N: So... It's been forever. Sorry! But for some reason I was struck with inspiration and have resumed writing so... Yeah. So many thanks to everyone who's reviewed/favorited/followed since last chapter!_

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: I Won't Be Somebody's Hero

She was half way down Derek's hallway when Casey very nearly ran into a kinda-familiar-looking guy (who gave her a look as though he wanted to be _much more_ familiar with _her_ ). Luckily, she was completely and totally capable of walking in six-inch heels.

(Meaning she only stumbled a little bit, and caught herself against the wall before taking a spill.)

Once she was entirely sure she wasn't going to fall, and relatively confident that she hadn't made a fool of herself, she glanced over her shoulder briefly to verify the fact that – yep, he was staring at her ass. At least he had the decency to look sheepish about it. It was more than Derek would've done. Not that Derek would ever be staring at _her_ ass. Cause… Well, that was wrong on so many levels. He just wouldn't.

The boy (how did she know him? maybe her physics lecture last year?) shot her a grin that seemed a lot more Derek-y. He seemed in danger of slowing his path and turning around to come hit on her for real. Casey's eyes widened and she hurriedly turned back around, stepping quickly away to avoid any potential embarrassing interactions. Not that she thought she'd make a fool of herself. The guy wasn't bad looking. She just… didn't want Derek to come out and ruin it. That was totally it. It had nothing to do with being intimidated at the idea of being hit on. Nothing at all.

She only managed one knock on the door when it swung open, revealing the oh-so-smarmy smirk of-

"Der-ek!"

She couldn't help it. It was her body's natural reaction to seeing that look on his face. It didn't help that he had one elbow propped up against the wall, looking as though he'd been kept waiting. For _her_. Casey never-late-always-early McDonald.

"I haven't even done anything yet, Spacey. Save the whining for- actually, never. Just never." He refused to move, keeping her waiting outside his apartment as he looked her over.

Scowling, Casey folded her arms over her chest (and yes, _over_ it, she was already self-conscious enough about this outfit without tempting fate). "Are you going to let me in, _Coach_?" Her tone was chilly, as was the glare she was directing at him.

His eyebrows shot up as he caught sight of her heels. "That depends, is Klutzilla gonna rampage my living ro- what did I tell you about that, Case?" He'd finally noticed her stance.

Her eyes narrowed.

"You've gotta _lift_ , Case," he smirked, gesturing his hands in an upward motion, "- _lift_ and _accentuate_. Do I have to-"

She scoffed, dropping her arms to push past him into his apartment. There was no way she'd take this abuse in a public hallway.

"Sure, _come on in_ ," Derek muttered under his breath, sarcastically, pushing the door shut unenthusiastically as he turned.

Casey had stopped dead in her tracks just a few feet inside the apartment. When she finally spoke, it was cautious and slightly frantic. "Derek…. What is this?" What she was seeing may have been too good to be true.

The room had been drastically altered from how it had looked yesterday. The kitchen had a string of sports pennants and lights, and a set of coasters and pint glasses on the raised counter, paired with the bar stools, gave off a pub feeling. The living room looked party-ready (including stereo playing top-40 hits, chip bowl, and cheap party napkins), and the dining table had been clothed and set (complete with candles!) to imitate a restaurant (or, y'know, as close as one can get when improvising – which meant a hockey trophy stood in for a vase). Overall, it was an impressive transformation. Casey immediately felt the tell-tale twinge of guilt in her stomach.

" _This_ is your dating obstacle course, Princess."

She was immediately reminded of that time she'd felt like a horrible waitress, and Derek had gotten the whole family to help be mock diners. Sure, maybe she hadn't drastically improved that night, but she sure got a lot more confident, and that ended up being all she needed (well, kinda). Her previous train of thought (the whole 'ew dating-Coach Derek' thing) veered off course as she felt a stinging in her eye, and her voice came out tighter and more watery than intended. "Oh, Derek…"

Casey turned, going to put her arms around him, but he stiffened and quickly darted out of her grasp. "Nuh-uh: no hugs, no tears," he looked slightly panicked.

Well it was his fault. Pulling a fast one, being so sweet. It was times like these she thought that maybe he wasn't such a bad brother.

 _Stepbrother_ , she reminded herself. _Step_.

"What, scared someone will walk in on a heartfelt moment?" She teased (somewhat sappily, she'd admit, but she was a bit caught up in the moment).

Derek had moved all the way to the other side of the couch, well out of her reach. "No heartfelt moments, Casey, remember?" He moved his fingers as though outlining the words in the air, emphatic. " _I don't have a heart_."

"Likely story." But there he was, looking freaked out to a level that Casey thought might even register a full 2 on her 1-10 freak out scale (an impressive feat for Derek). So she let it drop. "Oh, fine." She rolled her eyes, still grinning goofily, but the tears were quickly dissipating. And she needed to concentrate on the real important thing here: this was an obstacle course. Which meant she needed to succeed. And not _only_ succeed, she needed to _exceed expectations_. She turned her attention to the dining table. "So," she clapped her hands, "how's this work?"

Derek approached cautiously, just in case she hadn't gotten over her whole tears-and-hugs thing, starting toward the kitchen. "Well, we'll start with bar tips," he gestured to the empty pint glasses on the counter, "then party-going pointers," (the couch and chip bowl,) "and last but not least, the big one-on-one: date night dos and don'ts." He'd finally made his way over to where she stood, but kept out of arm's reach.

"Okay." She could do that. She ignored the surprised look on her stepbrother's face as she walked over to the kitchen counter, pulling out a stool, without a single snarky reply to his plans. Derek followed close behind, looking a little dazed at his good fortune. Or maybe just dazed that Casey would do anything without an argument.

Shifting herself onto the stool, she leaned her elbows on the counter and looked to him, pointedly. When he didn't immediately respond, she waved a hand toward the fridge on the other side of the counter. "Bartender? A drink?"

He smirked. "Oh no, Princess.I'm not the bartender." His swagger returned as he walked leisurely to the end of the counter, watching the confusion on her face warp into suspicion. He slapped his hands on the counter, confidently. " _I'm_ your _date_."

The only word she could use to describe his smirk (indeed, the only word she decided she should ever assign to him in general) was ' _evil_.'

"I'm not going to pretend to go on a date with you."

Derek placed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. "Really, Klutzy? Cause I figured you'd be thrilled." Like he didn't see this coming. It wasn't like _he_ was so eager to fake-date _her_. (Like he'd put himself through that? He much preferred admiring from afar rather than dealing with her neuroses.) Though, admittedly, he minded it a lot less when she looked like _that_.

Forget anything he'd said about confidence being all she needed to be sexy, cause he'd obviously been blinded by the whole 'want what you can't have' thing. With the heels? And the cleavage? And that after-sex hair thing going on? Yeah, no, sexy looked good on her. Very good. _Too_ good.

She crossed her arms under her chest this time, her facial expression angry, but tinted with just a touch of curiosity, wondering what this newfound cleavage power was capable of.

"Nice try," he shot her a smug smirk. "You can't play a player, Keener. In case you forgot; I taught you that trick. _Yesterday_."

Casey pouted, muttering angrily, "And it doesn't even work."

"Oh it works." Derek was a little too quick to respond. He turned away before she could cock her head at him in that curious puppy-dog way, and went for the fridge. "It doesn't work on _me_ , cause – well, I mean, you're _Casey_ – but I can assure you that any heterosexual college dude with a pulse will-" _Will take one look at your curves and be way too interested for me, as a stepbrother, (and as a guy who doesn't share his toys,) to allow it._ "-Just trust me, Case."

Pulling two bottles from the fridge, he popped them open on the edge of the counter. "Now, shall we begin?"

* * *

 _A/N: Not much happened in this chapter, sorry! I wanted to save it for the next chapter! Anyway, since I didn't have much to work with when finding lyrics, I ended up using lyrics from 'American Zero' by Neon Trees (and yes, I am incredibly aware that Dasey is Canadian). It'll do. I have several songs set aside for later use, but not every one is a winner. XD_

 _(Also, there are lyrics in that song that may or may not be – although they certainly sound like it – "I've got nothing, but I love you, isn't that enough to feel you up?" And, okay, online lyrics searches say "fill" not "feel" but really, I hear it as "feel" and it makes me laugh to think of Derek being a total ass and failing so hard with that line. XD)_

 _And a reminder: the playlist can be found at_ _ **bit. ly/1Js2Osw** (removing the space)  
_


	15. 15: You Look So Fine

_A/N: Another chapter for you guys! I finished another chapter and it's extra long, but I'm a bit stumped on where to go next. Any theories on how this evening might go? (And yes, multiple chapters just covering the 'obstacle course.') Shoot me a review or a message, and I'll give credit where credit's due. ^^  
_

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: You Look So Fine

She looked at him warily. "You're gonna be my date?"

"For an audience of none? Sure. It's a shame no one will believe if you _did_ tell, cause I'm pretty sure dating me would only increase your social standing." This mock civility was easy.

Casey shot him a quick glare, then her look returned to that contemplative internal-debate look she got. Lips pursed to the side, eyes narrowed. Kinda cute, in a totally neurotic keener kinda way. After a moment's pause, during which Derek rolled his eyes _repeatedly_ , she finally acquiesced. "Fine."

"Fine," he repeated. He walked back around to the front of the counter, pulling out a stool with one foot and sliding on. "I saw you were empty handed: care for a drink?" He offered her one of the brews he'd grabbed from the fridge.

Casey raised an eyebrow in a skeptical half-smile, even as she took the offered bottle. "That the best you've got?"

Derek could work with that. He shrugged, his lips forming a straight smile. "I figure a pretty girl who's stone cold sober can't quite handle the real zingers."

"So you get them drunk?"

"I prefer to think of it as-" he gestured toward himself with his bottle-filled hand, "-liquid courage, and-" he gestured toward her, "-liquid forgiveness. If you stick around til later, you can find out what I need to be forgiven for." He shot her a wink, then leaned in, conspiratorially, "I'll give you a hint: it usually involves 80's dance moves and badly-timed puns." Ah, self-deprecating jokes. Girls dig a guy who can rag on himself.

And now she was smiling. At him. And shaking her head in amused disbelief. "I gotta say, Venturi, sometimes… you surprise me." She took a sip of her drink, looking at him in a funny way. If he didn't know better, he'd almost think she was doing her usual dude-evaluation. But that would've required her to think of him as a dateable dude. Which she would never do.

He took a long pull from his drink, but couldn't stop the words that were just begging to be said. "Well, since you hate surprises, I figure there is no real downside to that feat." His smirk surfaced soon after, but his words had at least been said with a teasing attitude. She didn't even seem to be taking it so badly. Just rolling her eyes. She even managed to smile while doing it.

There was silence for another second as Casey took several sips of her own drink, looking over the pennants that had been hung in a string.

"Now you're supposed to hit on me?" He reminded her, gesturing toward her with his bottle.

He spotted the blush just about the same time that she started choking on her mouthful of beer, eyes wide. He handed her a napkin, unfazed, and watched with patient amusement as she coughed and covered her mouth, the blush seeping all the way out to her ears.

"Wh-what?" Her voice was about two octaves too high.

"I tested your ability to engage in playful banter – not too bad, by the way – and now you need to try hitting on-" he changed tack, rolling his eyes, "-a guy." That would be easier for her to handle. She was obviously not too keen on Derek _being_ said guy.

"Oh." She cleared her throat, then took another drink. "Ri- (cough) - Right." Her alcohol consumption seemed to be increasing exponentially. Suddenly, she seemed to realize something. "Wait, that- that counted?"

Jeez, so maybe it hadn't been over the top flirt city, but he had hoped he'd gotten the point across. "I called you pretty, didn't I?"

"You did?" She bit her lip.

Damn it, how did she make biting her lip look so appealing? That damn lipstick only made it worse. And it didn't even get on her teeth so he'd have something to laugh at her for. She just looked all coy, blushing and looking away.

"What were you expecting? Something like-" he put on an over the top cocky attitude as he slipped his arm around her, "'Hey, baby, you into hockey players? How 'bout a hockey player gettin' into _you_?'" He'd never used that line. Not even once. But he'd seen Getty fail with it about five times.

Casey had frozen as soon as he'd gotten within two inches of her. Well, at least that was better than her clawing his eyes out. He almost wanted to keep his arm around her, just to see what would happen, but decided that might not be the best idea.

Before dropping his arm, he pulled her a little closer to speak into her ear, "That's not my game, Princess."

He hadn't meant it to sound all growly, but hey – it worked. Like he didn't see her eyes go wide at the way his words tickled her skin...

…He should stop. This was a little too close for comfort.

Derek pulled away, back to his own stool, clearing his throat (damn tell - he'd wanted to come across as blasé, but that probably ruined it) as he straightened his jacket. "Anyway. Your turn."

She looked to him, almost pleading. "But- I don't know any-" She stopped as she saw him shaking his head, trying not to smirk.

"You may not remember Wes's girlfriend from last year, but I do. She was a whirlwind. Totally the take-charge type. And so are you basically everywhere _except_ in this apartment." He raised an eyebrow at her and teased, "What: do I make you nervous, Spacey?" He edged his knee toward her, subtly, and hid his interest as she shifted her own knees away. She was most definitely nervous.

"No." Of course she'd say that. She was one of the most stubborn people he'd ever met.

But she'd opened herself to it. "Really?" He felt his lips curving, and turned his whole body to face her, his hands grabbing the stool and pulling it toward him as he watched her shift away, putting her hands in her lap as she looked anywhere but at him. "Are you sure about that?" Now his knees were on either side of her seat, one bumping up against hers.

The only thing he'd maybe disliked about the heels was they they'd made her just slightly taller than him. But here, on stools, he still had the height advantage. He put one arm on the counter in front of her as the other hand rested on the lip of the stool, about half a centimeter from touching her hip, and let the height difference give him the upper hand, so to speak.

She seemed to hesitate, but then glanced to the side to shoot a glare at him, resolute. "Yes."

He had a feeling if she even tried to dismount her stool, Klutzilla would be taking over. She was a horrible liar.

Derek wanted to see how far he could push this. It was like he was back in middle school, moving his hand up a girl's leg and playing 'are you nervous.' Except that this was his stepsister. A thought which, now that he remembered it, _kinda_ made _him_ nervous. So he didn't put his hand on her leg, or her back, or whisper in her ear, or run his hand through her hair, or press his lips to- Nope. None of it. Cause stepsister means off limits. Even if she looked absolutely...

He let out an incredulous. "Mmhmm." But even if he knew he wasn't going to push it farther, he couldn't get himself to completely pull away.

* * *

 _A/N: This chapter's title is probably obvious to most, as it's from a very well-known song: 'Are You Gonna Be My Girl?' by Jet. I was looking for other songs, cause I wasn't sure it totally fit, but every time I read that first line I kept coming back to that song, so I went with it._

 _Another reminder: looking for theories on the rest of the evening, and also the playlist is here:_ _ **bit. ly/1Js2Osw** (removing the space)_


	16. 16: A Few Tricks Up Your Sleeve

_A/N: Well here's another! Probably one of my faves. Not over the top, but... sweet? You tell me._

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: A Few Tricks Up Your Sleeve

His voice hummed in the air between them as he let out a quiet murmur of, "I'm waiting, Princess."

She couldn't think clearly. It was like every sense was being overloaded on Derek-ness, and the words weren't coming to her. So she pursed her lips and glared straight ahead. She needed to get a grip on herself. And she needed to end this silence. Which meant she needed to come up with a response, quick.

Rational Casey took control, sorting out all discomfort into a sub-section and all of her competitive energy into her primary drive, before flipping the 'cool' switch and shifting her facial expression into a sly superior smile, the light of a challenge in her eye. "Fine," she shrugged, turning to her stepbrother and ignoring the way his hand skimmed her thigh as she pushed it off the stool. She pointed to the end of the counter. "Stand over there."

As he moved to do as she bid (surprisingly, with only a muttered "Yeah, sure, whatever _Princess_ ,") she focused her attention on forgetting that Derek was… well, Derek. She needed him to be someone else right now. Someone very different. Like Wesley, for instance.

She closed her eyes for a quick second, face melting into a happy smile as she imagined the black curls, stony green eyes, the dimples, the charmingly sheepish smile he got when he was late to turn back their graded assignments… Her smile slipped into a scowl. Why was Wes smirking? That wasn't a very Wes look. It was a very _Derek_ look. Shaking her head, she wiped the look off of Wes's imaginary face, replacing it with the grin he'd shot her when she aced her first exam. (Still, that smirk was haunting her. It had been kinda hot.)

"Any time now, Case."

Before her mental image could slip into a smirk again (and it wanted to with those words), she opened her eyes and shot Derek a glare. "Shush, you. I'm trying to forget that it's –" she pulled a face, and made a noise of disgust, "- _you_."

He rolled his eyes, but stood, arms crossed over his chest, and bowed his head to her with a 'go on' hand wave.

Right. Now, getting in character…

She was strong. She was independent. She was powerful and full of womanly wiles. She was, dare she admit, _sexy_. And _in control_. And she would bend men to her will. Right.

She stepped off her stool, flipped her hair, running a hand through it, and shook out her shoulders. She pointedly did not notice the raised eyebrow Derek directed at her. Lifting her rib cage and settling her shoulders back, she put on a confident smirk that may have even rivaled Derek's, and leaned one arm against the counter, cocking a hip out. She felt like she should have bubble gum and a beauty mark, and maybe a Pink Ladies jacket. Her voice was low and mildly affected as she attempted to smoulder her eyes at him. "Heya, Stud."

There was a beat of silence. Then Derek burst out laughing.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," he barely managed to straighten up, too overcome with laughter. " _That's_ your line? 'Heya Stud?'"

Casey glared. "Well I'm not exactly in the practice of doing this, y'know. Usually a guy just buys me a drink, strikes up a conversation – I'm not usually the one making the moves, Der."

It took him another full minute to calm himself down. "Sorry Case," (he sounded anything but, but straightened and tried to smooth out his face,) "Try again." He nodded to her.

"No! You'll just laugh!"

He lowered his chin in her direction. "No I won't." Lies. After a moment's pause, he rolled his eyes. "Okay, I'll try not to. Just give it another shot." She refused to respond. "Please, Casey?" He sounded pretty earnest. "You must've done something to get those guys to give you their numbers yesterday. Try that."

"Fine." That was what she'd do. Just what she'd done last night.

Casey flipped her hair again, resetting, this time leaning her back up against the edge and raising her leg to rest a foot back against the counter as she fixed him with a level gaze, a small but confident smile on her lips. She flicked her eyes over him, seeming to approve. When she did speak, it was calm and cool, and a little playful. "Hey. So my friend bet me I couldn't get your number… Wanna prove her wrong?" She finished with a small smirk.

Derek's eyebrows had been steadily migrating higher as he watched. He looked, dare she say, impressed. With _her_. His lips pulled into a matching smirk, and he took a few slow, sauntering steps until he was less than a foot away, his eyes looking her over just as she'd done to him. Only, his look felt a bit more… thorough. She took a sip from her drink, not taking her eyes off him, as she tried not to break character. She could do this. She'd acted. She'd even been in plays and stuff!

"That depends, do you promise to call me?"

She hadn't been expecting him to keep the scene going. But she'd taken an improv course. Once. She could yes-and this. Her smirk widened, and she tilted her head side to side, as though considering it. Then she looked at him again. "I make no promises." Her voice was teasing, and her lips were coy. She gave him the look she'd tried to achieve at the Varsity: hungry, interested, and very forward. Alicia called them sex eyes.

Casey tried not to think 'sex eyes' and 'Derek' in the same sentence. She instead became very aware of how warm she was with the alcohol and the jacket, and the slight hum of the lights, and the quiet sound of pop music coming out of the speakers a few yards away.

There was something in the way he was looking at her. It was a lot like the guys from the night before, that touch of good-humored disbelief. "Y'know, I don't usually give my number to a girl unless I know her name. I'm-" he hesitated, and there was a flash of something else in his eyes, "-D." He held out a hand.

Well, it was better than flirting with a Derek. She could deal with that. (Heh. D-eal.)

"Casey." She couldn't come up with a new name on the spot. He was close enough that she didn't even have to reach her arm out. She transferred her beer into her left hand and shook his with her right, elbow still against the 'bar.'

"And what's a nice girl like you doing making bets about phone numbers, Casey?" He was smirking again.

Was it just her, or had he gotten even closer? His hand, resting on the bar, was almost brushing her elbow. And she didn't have an answer for that. Last night, she'd just made her excuses as soon as possible once she got the digits. She pulled out her phone, pulled up a new contact entry, and handed it over. "How do you know I'm a nice girl?"

He gave her a jokingly incredulous look, but a mischievous smile crept onto his lips as he took her phone. He had nice lips. "So, you're saying, if you had to be tagged as either naughty or nice you'd be…?" He glanced up from where he'd been typing, waiting for her answer.

She bit her lip. Was this a ploy just to get her to use that word? Cause she didn't like that word. It had way too many connotations. Still, in character she'd probably use that word anyway… Instead, she shrugged, and tilted her head to look up at him from under heavy lashes. "Who says you can't be a little of both?" When he'd finished typing, she took the phone back and held it up to take a picture for the contact card. "Smile, D."

He shot her a smirk. It was actually a pretty good picture.

"Well, y'know, D – I gotta go. It was nice meeting you." She managed to keep the flirtatious attitude as she finished her drink.

He looked taken aback. "Seriously?"

She shot him a smirk. "No worries," she cupped his face with her hand – a bold move, and one she probably wouldn't have turned to except the whole banter bit had been going so well, "-I'll give you a call." She patted his cheek with a wicked grin, placed her drink back on the counter, and turned to leave the 'bar.' A few steps away, she stopped. "Aaaand… end scene!" She clapped her hands together as she turned to face her stepbrother, a self-satisfied smile painted across her face.

* * *

 _A/N: This chapter's title is courtesy of The Soft Pack's 'Answer to Yourself.' It's a rockin' song, and I figured the independence angle worked well for Casey showing off her own skillz. ;) (Side note, MV has Chloe Grace Moretz kickin ass.) So yeah... I know it's not over the top sexual, but it feels (to me) like a pretty organic conversation. Does that make sense?  
_

 _Repeating this again: looking for theories on the rest of the evening, and also playlist:_ _ **bit. ly/1Js2Osw** (removing the space)_


	17. 17: Not Stirred, But Shaken

_A/N: So, the POV this chapter is a bit shifty – I kept going back and forth, but was never in one long enough to justify making it a separate section. So I apologize if it's a little hard to follow. Also, been finding me some slow-jams to set a mood. -^.^- Listening to an awful lot of Beyoncé and The Weeknd on one end of the spectrum (R &B-ish sensual slow jams), and Lovage, and Bitter:Sweet on the other (very James Bond era + mixing). Also – and no judging – the 50 Shades soundtrack (never read the book, saw the movie once and was disappointed, but the soundtrack is awesome). Also looking up choreography for inspiration as well._

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Not Stirred, But Shaken

Derek's jaw dropped as soon as she turned her back on him. Who was this woman, and what had she done with Casey?

The whole clapping and preppy pose she had going on reminded him that she was, indeed, the same Casey McDonald he'd had the _pleasure_ of knowing (read: displeasure of living with) for years. But somehow she'd managed to channel some sort of sex kitten.

That thought opened his mind to a world of images he'd rather not deal with now. So he filed them back to where those sorts of images did belong (along with the best of Stoya and Sasha Grey) to be dealt with later. Much later. When no one was around.

Ahem - back to Casey.

He'd hurriedly closed his mouth once she was facing him, but let her see just how impressed he was. "Ya done good, kid." He stepped forward, reaching to tousle her hair, but she grabbed his wrist.

"Nuh-uh, looking this amazing takes time, Mister." She teased, smiling proudly.

No it didn't. She looked that good all the time. (Well, okay, occasionally she slipped in the attractiveness count, but that was only when she was absolutely sick and dead on her feet, and then the 'cute' meter was a little higher so it all evened out.) Not that he'd admit it.

"Suuuure," he rolled his eyes, "I mean, it must take you hours to straighten your face out."

That was a weak one for him, but he wasn't in a state of mind to come up with a sharp jab.

"Only ten percent of the time it takes for _you_ to be deemed fit for public consumption," she retorted, chin lifted challengingly, her eyes sparking with the joy of the fight even as her lips hovered somewhere between smirk and smile.

He was suddenly very aware that her hand was still around his wrist. And he really _really_ wanted to reverse that. He kinda wanted to just back her up against the wall and –

Nope. This was Casey. Thoughts must be censored. (Or, rerouted.)

But even if he couldn't physically do what he wanted to, there were always words.

Derek took another step forward, tempted to jerk his hand and push her off balance, but instead he just pulled her ever so slightly into his personal space. He lowered his voice, "Well, you can't seem to keep your hands off me, so whatever I'm doing it must be working."

A mental scoreboard tallied his win as he saw and felt Casey's face get pink, her smile faltering as she quickly let go of him and stepped away, suddenly a bit flustered. He smirked as she cleared her throat and turned her attention to the living room. "So, party tips?" Her voice was doing that thing where it pitched up an octave. Cute.

The swagger back in his step, Derek meandered toward the stereo, leaning slightly against the wall beside it as he turned to face her again, enjoying the way she wouldn't meet his eyes. An idea flashed into his head. An idea he knew he shouldn't like, but he did. Too much. And now his mind was racing with just what he might need to do to make it happen. His body was humming with excitement and nerves and the adrenaline was like a drug – a drug that was thoroughly impairing his judgment. But there they were: the steps that lead to his desired outcome, outlined in his mind like some divine intervention.

 _So God wants you to sleep with your stepsister?_

The thought had barely registered in his mind before he'd rerouted it – and the sinfully sweet images that came with it – out of his working memory. Apart from the slight raise in heart rate, the dilation of the pupils, it was like he hadn't even thought it. He turned up the stereo.

Feeling uncomfortably warm, Derek stripped off his jacket, tossing it on the couch and rolling up the sleeves of his button-up as he quickly followed. "Right." He sat down on the couch, using one foot to scoot the coffee table aside a bit, clearing the space in front of him. Casey was still standing, off to the side, but she'd managed to glance at him, a cautious look in her eye, unsure of what he would do next.

He raised his eyebrows, looking over at her expectantly as he crossed an ankle over a knee and leaned back into the couch, arms spread over the back cushions. He looked for all the world like a king in his castle. He quickly began listing off quick tips: "Never go for garlic hummus, onion dip, or anything that you can smell from more than a foot and a half away; nuts are the best snack option; if you put down your drink, don't bother picking it up, just get a new one; no more than a drink an hour after the first hour – if you're thirsty, switch it up between booze and non-booze; never drink on an empty stomach; lock your phone; have a designated driver or walk or take public transport – never drive if you plan on drinking. And…" He trailed off, brow furrowing.

"What?" She asked, eyes widened with a touch of panic that she was doing something wrong.

Sometimes she was so easy to nudge off-kilter.

He crooked his finger at her, beckoning her closer. Once she'd moved to just a few steps away he held up his hand and she stopped. Derek had to smirk at that. He'd never seen her so compliant in her life (at least, where he was concerned).

Leaning forward, Derek rested his elbows on knees and steepled his hands in front of him as though in serious thought. He let her grow impatient and twitchy as he looked concernedly at the floor by her feet. Finally, he spoke. "Here's the thing: I know you're a dancer and all, but… that's not how things work at parties."

Casey scoffed, her confidence returning as she crossed her arms (the way he'd taught her, too – so distracting) and rolled her eyes. " _That's_ what you're so concerned about?" She raised an eyebrow incredulously. "I know how parties work, Der."

It was Derek's turn to look incredulous. "Yeah…" his voice was a mockery of sensitivity, "But _do_ you?" He went on, patronizingly doubtful, "I haven't seen proof of that. Sure, maybe in high school I briefly saw you nodding your head with a charmingly innocent cup of soft drink in your hand: but is that _really_ dancing?"

Casey was unimpressed. Her affect was wry as she deadpanned, "This may surprise you _, brother dearest_ , but I've actually been to clubs before." There was a touch of acid dripping from her words.

In truth, it did surprise him. And he accentuated that surprise with a shocked hand to the mouth, which had formed a cartoonish 'O.' "No! You, Casey, have been to a club? Nay – _multiple_ clubs? Keener Casey? The infamous prude?" He paused. "Unless-" he seemed to reconsider, and a look of understanding dawned on his face, "Oh, you mean like – chess club? Drama club?"

"Oh ha ha." Casey did not look amused. "No – not those clubs. Real clubs. Dance clubs." She'd moved into an advanced hip hop class last semester, of course she and her classmates had had a little outing together. Besides that, she'd made enough friends that would drag her around with them that she'd had several little excursions. "And I'm no prude, Venturi. I just have a few qualities that you intrinsically lack: among them _taste_ and _class_." Her upturned nose and small smirk did little to disprove the 'prude' label.

Her claim drew a pitying smile from her step-brother. "Sure." He nodded, sympathetically.

There was a moment of silence as Casey's eyes narrowed, trying to determine exactly what he was expecting her to do. Derek met her gaze as his trademark smirk returned, and pointedly turned up the volume of the stereo.

She raised an eyebrow. "…You can't possibly intend – I'm not just going to-" She scoffed at his gall.

"You can always just prove your abilities, Keener." He shrugged. "There's no one here to witness your failures – or successes, even," he added, quickly, before she could protest his assumption. "It's just the two of us…"

Those words – that realization – sent a pleasant shiver up his spine. He spotted a brief flash of panic in Casey's eyes before she quickly guarded her expression and tilted her chin up defiantly.

* * *

"I don't dance alone." She shifted her arms a bit, jostling her décolletage, and part of her was intrigued as she saw his eyes dart to her cleavage and away again. She let out a small laugh, her tone aloof. "And the fact that you'd want to watch that-"

"Want to?" He interrupted, and his laugh sounded forced. "More like suffer through it. But if you don't think you're capable…" He shrugged. "I suppose it just confirms my suspicions: severely lacking in the casual dancing department."

The challenge hung in the air, and Casey pursed her lips, cocking a hip out as she debated her options. He was goading her. It wasn't a new concept. But at the same time, he must know that this was one realm in which her confidence was unwavering.

She'd been dancing her whole life. And not some innocent genre, like tap or clogging. She'd been doing lyrical and jazz and now hip hop for… well, her mother could attest to just how much they'd spent on lessons and competitions. And those genres, especially with modern choreography, were all about the sinuous grace and raw physical power of the body. Sure, the first half hour of her first hip hop class had made her blush a bit, but then she'd gotten into it. It was explosive and rhythmic and all about precise hits. It made her feel powerful.

There was no way he could make her doubt herself. And while she actually _was_ tempted to show off just how good she was, this was not the place. Besides, the music that was playing was too bubblegum pop for the moves she'd been working on last dance class.

Casey tilted her head sideways lazily, and shook it with a sigh. "Derek, Derek, Derek..." Her eyes sharpened even as her body moved with an effortless grace as she stepped forward. She was looking for his reaction, morbidly curious as to what she was about to start. She approached the couch, and he leaned back as she drew closer. His cockiness seemed to be fading, shifting into something else – wary, and maybe… hopeful? She glanced down, hesitating for a fraction of a second.

Somewhere behind her confident exterior, her pulse quickened. Was she really about to do this? Was this crossing a line? No – there were no lines to cross. Lines implied that there was the possibility something might move farther. Which it wouldn't. Because they – well, she – they just weren't – it wouldn't happen. It was inconceivable.

And if not inconceivable, nearly impossible.

Or if not impossible, highly improbable.

But her brain seemed to be calculating slower than her body was moving, because her hands suddenly seemed to be on his knees as she bent over to speak to him at eye level: "I dance for myself, nobody else." She paused. She was sure she'd had more to say, but the words seemed to escape her for a moment. She watched his face as his eyes flitted nervously from one spot to another – catching her eyes only briefly before focusing on other parts of her face, her body, his own hands (anything to keep from actually meeting her gaze, she assumed). He had nice skin, and her fingers twitched briefly with the sudden urge to touch his face. The urge passed quickly. How long had she been-?

Keeping composure (if just barely), she turned away, straightening up. Looking away made it a lot easier to remember what else she was going to say, and she managed to make it sound (mostly) casual. "…But if you feel the need to _approve_ , you should've already known that I have dance class every Monday and Thursday." She was already halfway back to the bar, reaching for her drink. She downed it quickly, and went back to the fridge for another.

She could hear her heart pulsing loudly in her ears even as she assured herself that it was totally whatever, she'd been closer than that to him before, this time she'd just been asserting herself. It wasn't a big deal. It was her taking back the power. In a vaguely physical manner. And by that, of course, she meant invading his space, not putting her hands on his knees and her cleavage in his face – cleavage was such a sexualized term, it was more like… y'know… just… skin. Not intended to be sexual at all. Why would anyone even suggest that. It was more like – like a dog, standing above another dog until they rolled over. Like that. Except with Derek. Who, now that she thought of it, she _had_ called a dog several times in her life. The comparison calmed her a bit, lightening the tone of her thoughts. And the half bottle of beer she'd hurriedly tossed back also helped fuzz them out a bit.

Still… She didn't know if she could handle another close encounter of the Derek kind. She opened the fridge and reached for another bottle.

* * *

 _A/N: I rewrote the end of this chapter a couple of times until I felt it was a little more give-and-take instead of one character steamrolling the other. I have the first draft laying around somewhere, but it was a little too much of Casey backing down when I wanted her to push back. Then again, Derek speaking without thinking, and his reaction to what he was setting into motion, was fun to write. I just felt a little backed into a corner and didn't know where to go from there._

 _This chapter's title comes from 'Strangers on a Train' by (the aforementioned) Lovage. ("If you would sir / pardon me / a stiff one is my specialty." So cheeky!) I was debating going with another (more current) song, but decided it may be a bit more relevant later in the story, depending how things go ;) Also – this song may end up appearing in the story itself, even though I'm tentative to do it, since I find references like that often jar me out of a story when I'm reading._

 _Also, this chapter is a long one. Very long. Basically two chapters. So give me some time for the next._

 _If anyone is interested in my HP fic, The Detention, I've also finally updated that one (with chapter four being a light M rating). Neither of these stories is likely to be updated right away, but know that there has been brainstorming on both, and the beginning of chapters are written. This is just a little birthday gift for you guys. 24, and still writing fanfiction... *sigh*_

 _You can find the playlist here:_ _ **bit. ly/1Js2Osw** (removing the space) And I'm still looking for guesses on what is to come.  
_


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